Gaining Faith
by Fenrir's Daughter
Summary: Rogue slayer Faith Lehane has hit rock bottom once again and needs a place to stay while she composes herself. Staying with her cousin Grace in Handler's Corners seems safe enough, but what are all those strange lights in the desert about?
1. A New Hope

A/N: Been thinking about this one for a while! I've got a few long oneshots in the works for BF5, but chapter one of this story was what I finished first. Oh, and in refernce to the royal mentioned here, Lady Geneveive Savidge was featured in the Buffy comics. Look her up.

DISCLAIMER: ME NO OWN. YOU NO SUE. REVIEW OR ME SMASH STUPID LAZY READERS. RARR.

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><p>The dusty landscape was unforgiving. The town was small, pathetic, even, and the economy was in a down turn. The sun beat down at a blistering one hundred and nine degrees Fahrenheit that humble August day, far hotter than she preferred. But then, things almost never seemed to go the way she preferred them to. That was life for her; swallow your pride, do what you have to and move on. And if they followed you, then keep moving.<p>

_Well, hello, rock bottom,_ she thought to herself. _Haven't seen your ugly mug in a while._

Handler's Corners was certainly less of a dump than some of the places she'd passed through over the years, but it was not exactly glamorous. She was born and bred in the darkest slums of South Boston, where the air stank of smoke and liquor and there was always a fight to be had; shunted from group home to foster care to the streets, the violence and pain was all she knew. She finished out high school in Sunnydale, an outwardly lovely small town with a private college, a zoo, a museum…and a death rate so high even the high school newspapers had to publish weekly obituary columns. Then LA, with all its smog and murder, to say nothing of its women's prison, where she languished for a year. From there she went to—_ugh—_Cleveland. As if being on Lake Erie in the winter was not quite bad enough, she had the new Hellmouth to contend with, and all of its accompanying problems: demons, vampires, cults, and the occasional werewolf or warlock. There were a few gigs in Europe after that, but had they turned out well, she would not be in such a predicament. And so, here she was, in a tiny nowhere town, to impose on her kindhearted cousin for a place to stay until she got back on her feet.

She hardly remembered the last time she saw Grace; the pair of them were just kids at the time. All she could remember was Grace's heartbroken face as their mothers swore never to speak to each other again. At least they stayed in one place; it made it easier for her to track Grace down. And since they hardly had contact, no one would think to look for her there.

The phone call had been a surprise, to be sure. Grace never expected to hear that voice again. But how could she say no? "Faith, you're the only family I've got left. I don't care what you've done, I'll help you anyway. But we have to be careful."

"Like a fake name, right, Gracie?" Faith had said it as a joke, but it was not a terrible idea. "It'll be fine. I just need somewhere to cool my heels for a bit 'til I can take care of myself."

"I know." The line hissed with words unsaid. "Faith…"

She sighed. "Look, Grace, I'm…I'm sorry I never looked you up before now. It must be real tough, not hearin' from me all this time and now I'm begging for scraps at your back door. I understand if you just want me to get lost."

"Faith, it was my mom's decision not to contact you guys. Not mine." She sounded very convincing when she said "I don't abandon my family."

"Thank you, Gracie," Faith told her. "You're better family than I deserve."

Handler's Corners was in the middle of nowhere, barely eight hundred miles from Sunnydale—close enough she'd be stupid to stay for long, which was why no one would be looking for her there. And somehow Grace had worked some miracle and gotten her boss to agree to take Faith on. Not that she was generally interested in honest work, but cash was cash. And by saying Faith was afraid of getting 'abducted by aliens' she'd even convinced the wierdo to pay her off the record. At the moment, things were looking up for the rogue slayer. Now, if only she could manage to keep it that way…

* * *

><p>After a particularly grueling battle zone, the Battle Force 5 had once again congregated at Zeke's Diner. It was always so nice to have a place to remind them of what it was like to be normal, even if the proprietor was constantly mumbling about aliens. Duty and honor were important, sure, but there was a certain something to be said for a little relaxation now and again. Stanford took great comfort, more than the others knew, in coming to an out-of-the-way greasy spoon like Zeke's and palling around with the rest of the team as they shared pizza or whatever else they were in the mood for. A hearty meal of heart attack inducing comfort food kept him grounded and calmed his nerves, and of course, there was always the fun of ogling his favorite waitress, Grace.<p>

The piece of royal riffraff caught sight of her out the corner of his eyes almost as soon as he had started searching. He did not recognize the tight black slacks, they must have been new, and she wore her hair down, which was unusual—and then she turned around and he realized it was not Grace at all. Sure, there was a basic resemblance, though this young woman was chestier, and perhaps a few years older. Her dark brown hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, framing her oval face in a lovely manner. The lips above her dimpled chin were dark red, and her big, sad eyes looked as if they were sick and tired of the idiots they constantly observed. Somehow, to Stanford at least, this woman seemed bored, bemused and annoyed all at once. In a word, the girl was 'bangable.'

"Oi, check out the new girl," he purred, nudging Vert in the side. The blonde caught on almost immediately and they stepped forward together. The pair had made a game of wooing Grace, and though it ended poorly, they had thoroughly enjoyed it. If Zoom did not interfere this time, either of them might just stand a chance.

Agura clucked in disappointment as she and the rest took up their usual table. AJ raised an eyebrow as Grace took their orders, placidly observing as Vert and Stanford closed in on the new waitress.

"I've never seen her before," AJ said coolly. Upset as she was, Agura ignored how out of character it was for him to be anything less than totally stoked.

"Idiots," she said. "Why do they always gotta go after the same girl? Those two just don't know when to quit playing. They've never even met her!"

Grace chuckled nervously. "Yeah, that's my cousin, uh, Hope. Things have been kind of rough on her lately so she's staying with me for a while." Her forced smile was on the verge of cracking and she apologized. "I better get over there and make sure she doesn't kill them."

"She's a tough girl?"

"She's from _Southie."_

Oh, yes because THAT explained EVERYTHING. Thankfully, Spinner, being a veritable font useless information, told her that the South side of Boston, Massachusetts, was a neighborhood known historically for mob violence and the tough-as-nails Irish immigrants and their descendants. A girl from the wrong side of the tracks in a big bad city like that would eat a nice small town boy like Vert alive, _especially_ since Grace had already pointed out the girl was in a bad mood.

"Oh, this'll be fun to watch."

* * *

><p>Faith was cleaning the tables when she heard two sets of footsteps approach her. Sooner or later she would have to deal with locals, she had figured. Now was as good a time as any. She would just have to remember to use her alias.<p>

"Sooo, new in town?" the blonde asked with a grin. "Hi, name's Vert Wheeler. I'd be happy to show you around after your shift ends, if you like."

"Not much to show in a small town like this," she replied, moving to the next booth. She did not even look up at him.

"Ah, yes, but the local communities are so tightly knit. It can be hard making new friends, but there's plenty of fun to be had if one has the right connections." The redhead's English accent immediately began to work her nerves. "Stanford Isaac Rhodes the fourth, one hundred and eighty ninth in line for the throne. Charmed."

"Royalty, huh?" she said cynically. "Shame what happened to that Lady Genevieve; the killer musta been a real bruiser to leave her pinned like that. Did Scotland Yard find any leads yet?"

All color drained from Stanford's face in shock. "N-no, not that I'm aware of. Ah, please excuse me."

Vert glanced in the Brit's direction as he scampered off the men's room, but quickly turned his attention back to the new waitress. "So, you haven't told me your name. I wonder, is it just as pretty as you are?"

"Hope O'Shaughnessy, don't wear it out." She frowned, annoyed. "You've got some balls using pick-up lines like that in public. And anyway, how old are you with that little baby face? Does your mother know that you're out?"

Vert twitched, insulted, and responded reflexively with brutal honesty. "No, she's dead."

For the first time, 'Hope' looked him over closely. Slim but strongly built, golden haired, with gorgeous blue eyes and an adorable dimple in his chin. "Sorry to hear that, baby-cakes. How'd your pa take it?"

"He disappeared way before that."

She smiled at him. "Both your folks out of the picture and still going strong; you're tough. I might almost like you, kid." She picked up her washing pail, preparing to saunter back to the kitchen. "If you were maybe ten years older."

Vert opened his mouth to say something and was promptly interrupted.

"There you are, Hope!" Grace exclaimed in an overly cheery tone. "Vert, you really shouldn't be keeping her from work on her first day! Go on, little lady. Scoot!"

"Yeah, yeah, get in the kitchen and make you a sandwich, I got it…" She rolled her eyes and snickered as she passed through the door.

"Well, she certainly dabbles in being a bitch," Vert muttered.

Grace glared. "She may be bitchy but she's all the family I've got."

"What? Oh, jeez, Grace, I didn't mean—"

"Can it, Wheeler. F—" She paused, breathing deeply. "Just—Just be nice to Hope! She's been moving around a lot since her mom got killed and she's had it rough. And I better not catch you and Stanford playing 'pass the waitress' like you tried with me!" she added roughly. Grace forced a smile. "Can I get you anything to drink? Are you ready to place your order yet or would you like to hear the specials?"

"Just the usual is fine, thanks." He hung his head, embarrassed, and trotted back to the table. Apparently at some point Stanford had made it back as well and sat there, mirthless with red-rimmed eyes. "Have you been crying?"

The Brit only sniffled, warming his hands around the cup of tea Grace had brought him.

AJ finally regained his trademark friendly smile now that their leader had arrived. "Didn't work out, eh?"

"Yeah, she says she prefers older guys. No big."

"No worries! There are plenty of fish in the sea, dude, and I'll be right here for you until you find the one." The big Canadian patted his dearest friend on the back. "Now, what'd she say to shoot Stanford down so bad? He looked like he'd seen a ghost!"

Stanford sobbed into his hands. "Genevieve!" he cried, running out the door. Vert stared after him, concerned.

"She mentioned some royal who was murdered. I guess Stanford was close to her." He sighed. "I better go after him."

"No, I got it," Agura said gently. She followed Stanford out to his car to check on him.

Vert turned his focus to the pizza, trying to remove the girl from his mind. Who was she calling baby-faced? He was no pretty boy, not like Stanford. The very idea offended him! When Spinner mentioned she was from a tough neighborhood he reasoned that maybe she wasn't used to people being nice without wanting something. Hope was probably just looking out for number one.

Vert of course knew that he would not be the last to vie for her attention. New arrivals in a small town like Handler's Corners were a rarity, even with the 'employees recruited to Spectra Motors' they'd been getting. Each one was met with an air of excitement and curiosity, and one so pretty as Hope would be endlessly fawned over. Not all of the attention would be positive, but it seldom ever was.

"Did somebody lose a hand?" a sarcastic voice called out. "Cuz I just found this one on my ass."

The customer Hope singled out muttered for her to take it easy, that he just wanted some 'friendly company' for the night. Livid, she punched him, and he sailed twelve feet through the air before falling to the floor. The diner was all but silent as all eyes fell on the altercation.

"Y-you bitch!" the trucker cried. He saw Sheriff Johnson nearby and bared his teeth. "Sheriff, I wanna press charges!"

From where he sat at the counter, sipping his coffee, the sheriff raised an eyebrow in consideration. "Okay, but I'll be filing sexual assault charges against you on the lady's behalf."

"WHAT? But _she_ hit _me!"_

"After you approached her with unwarranted sexual advances and publicly fondled her. And what you said about 'friendly company' could be construed as attempted solicitation. Assualt charges against her would get thrown out on self defense. You, on the other hand…Well, did I mention both the judge and prosecutor are women?"

Muttering to himself the whole time, the middle-aged creep slapped a twenty on the counter and left. Several customers clapped and cheered, cat calling at the guy as he exited the diner in shame. Sheriff Johnson turned to Faith.

"I could still go after him if you did wanna press charges," he told her.

She shook her head. "I just got here, I'm still unpacking. I really don't feel like going to court right now." _Because then you'd know I have warrants out in California, _she did not add. "Thanks, sheriff. Hey, I gotta get back to work. Can I get you a refill on that coffee, maybe a brownie or something?"

* * *

><p>"Holy wowsers did you see her throw that guy?" Spinner asked excitedly, flailing about in such a manner that Sherman had to grab him to keep him from falling into the next booth. "That was totally badass!"<p>

"Dodged that bullet, eh, Vert?" AJ asked. "If you'd talked to her any longer she mighta done that to you."

"I think that's the closest Zeke's has ever gotten to a bar brawl," Grace said, returning with onion rings, curly fries, and refills on everyone's drinks.

At the very least, things had gotten a lot more interesting in Handler's Corners.

* * *

><p>AN: I do hope to eventually make this into a multichaptered story, so I'll leave it open for now. I've got some ideas for how it'll go, to. Let me know what you think!


	2. Simon Says Hello

A/N:Wheeeeeeee! It's two in the morning and I'm tired! But INSPIRED! So here is more fun at the diner, where almost all the scenarios I come up with are taking place, since this is a small town and the only other alternative is to make things up, since Nerd Corps hasn't really developed the background of the BF5 world that much. Originally, there was going to be an incident with a plate glass window, but I think I'll save that for later. Enjoy!

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><p>"Stanford, we've fought hard together. You can tell me anything."<p>

He bit his lip, shaking his head. Agura was always on him about his womanizing ways; if he told her the truth, there was no way he would get out of the situation without a lecture. He froze as he felt her hand on his cheek.

"Look at you," she chided. "You're a wreck. I only want to help you. Why don't you swallow your pride and let me in? Who was Genevieve?"

She had him cornered; Stanford was too tired to fight. "Gigi…Lady Genevieve Savidge was one of my best friends back home, and engaged to my brother, Simon. But she hated him! They had nothing in common, but she was going through with it, 'for England,' she said."

"Here I thought arranged marriages were looked down on in the western world," Agura said skeptically.

"Believe me, she wasn't happy about it, even if her children would be higher in line for the throne." He paused and sniffled again. "We'd been very close when we were younger, and…"

She raised her eyebrows. "Go on."

"We…had an affair." Stanford glared at her, warning her with his eyes. "Don't you dare say a word. We were in love, her engagement to Simon be damned. We seriously talked about running away together."

"But you didn't, obviously."

"She started pushing me away. I swear that new Irish tutor of hers had a hold on her! And when they were found dead together…" He tried unsuccessfully to hold back a sob. "And all that occult paraphernalia they found on the murder scene! God, she'd changed so much. What had she gotten herself into?"

"Christ, _murder?"_

"I've tried not to think about it again since the funeral, and Hope just brings it up in casual conversation, like it's nothing."

Agura frowned, furrowing her brow. "How would she have known?"

"Oh, who bloody cares? The tabloids were all over it, she probably heard it through the grapevine at some point." He sobbed again. "Oh, God, GENEVIEVE!"

There were few sights more pathetic than a young man weeping openly into his hands, his ears and cheeks pink as the tears streaked down his face. She tried hard to be annoyed, she really did, but in the end, Agura's better nature won out. She held him in her arms and did not complain when he muffled his cries in her shoulder.

"You really did love her, didn't you?" she asked softly. She stroked his back and let him cry. "It's okay, you'll be okay. You've got us now."

Stanford curved his arms around her, desperate to hold onto someone, anyone, as his blubbering finally slowed. For a moment, there was no one in the world but the two of them. And he was okay with that.

*beep beep beep* _**"Storm shock approaching."**_ *beep beep beep*

Agura patted him again. "We better go, Stanford."

"I…suppose," he said, giving her a final squeeze. He sniffled once more before he let go. "And Agura?

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

* * *

><p>Thanks to their team's efforts, the Kharamanos were free. The highly intelligent race was enslaved to the Vandals no longer, and it made Tezz smile to know he had helped. Though Tezz was not likely to admit how deeply fond he had grown of their people… He was sorry to leave them behind, knowing there was so much they could learn from each other, but they were a peaceful race. The best thing was to simply be glad they were home and toast to their safety.<p>

"Finally! I'm starved!" Spinner exclaimed as they arrived at Zeke's Diner. "Man, I hope there's not too much of a wait."

"Don't worry, Spin. With as violent as I've heard Hope's been getting, we'll probably…have the…place to ourselves…"

Vert was forced to eat his words almost as immediately as he uttered them, for the parking lot was packed. A similar sight met the team's eyes as they entered the diner proper, with Zeke momentarily minding the counter and taking payment as Grace and Hope hurried from table to table.

From the chatter, it became apparent many of the unfamiliar customers had come from neighboring townships and even counties to see the tough as nails Northerner who could hit like Ali. Many had come simply to ogle the new girl and perhaps flirt with her, but from the laughter and rowdy cheers of "Can't wait for the next one!" it seemed many were there just to watch Hope knock out the morons who tried.

"Well…at least our usual booth is still open."

"Hey there, boys and girl," Hope greeted as they piled in. "Grace told me your usual drink orders; any changes? Great! Our specials today are half price key lime pie, buy one get one free curly fries, and a punch in the face to any idiot who gropes a waitress."

"_That's_ a special?" Vert asked incredulously.

"Pfft, you know how it is. Every hotshot jackass thinks they have a chance to bang the new girl. Had to knock around so many o' these wise guys the Sheriff said we needed a disclaimer and Big Z thought it'd be hilarious to put it on the specials list." She blew a strand of hair away from her eyes. "Buncha losers. I curb-stomped tougher girls in juvie."

She jotted down their orders like a pro, running off and leaving the BF5 to talk amongst themselves. The subject was of course the latest battle zone, until 'Hope' came back with their drinks, at which point the Cortez bros started debating which of the twelve incarnations of the Time Lord protagonist on Dr. Who was superior to all others. Repulsed by the prospect of eavesdropping on something so nerdy, Faith went to the kitchen to work on her orders.

"Jeez, what is with these guys?" her younger cousin complained as she entered. "It's like it's becoming a traditional dare to piss you off or something."

"Men are idiots, Gracie. It doesn't bother me no more, but just be sure to tell me if any of them bother _you."_

"Nah, all the attention's on you today," she lamented. "I'd be insulted if I weren't making such great tips."

Faith gagged as she prepared a side dish. "Man, who puts gravy on French fries?"

"Canadians, the freaks."

"So nasty," she muttered as she made her way back to the booth. "Okay, we got one black olive-anchovy with a side of putine for Casper here—"

"I'm not _that_ pale," AJ muttered.

"—classic cheeseburger combo for Jay, club sandwich extra pickles for his hetero life mate Silent Bob—"

Spinner and Sherman, respectively, snickered at the disrespect they received.

"—barbecue spareribs for Short Round here—"

"He no crazy, he nuts!" Zoom quoted, nailing the pop culture reference and electing not to be offended.

"—Xena and Gabrielle are splitting the meat lover's with soy cheese—"

"Hey, that's a girl's name!" Stanford groused, much to Agura's amusement.

"—sausage and mushroom for baby-face—"

"Ooooooooo! She called you baby!" they cooed mockingly at a blushing Vert.

"And last but not least," she continued, "double BLT on sourdough and a bowl of borscht for Vlad."

"No, Vlad is my uncle," he corrected. "I am Tezz."

"I was referencing that thick Transylvanian accent of yours and the vampire Vlad Dracula."

"Yes, that's his name; Vlad Dracul Volitov."

She scoffed. "Your uncle was named after Vlad the Impaler, vampire prince of Wallachia?"

"Why does that always surprise everyone? His methods may have been barbaric but he kept the Turkish army out, no mean feat for that time period! To this day he is considered a hero in my homeland."

His friends stopped chewing, staring at him. Becoming conscious of this, Tezz looked up.

"What? Sherman's namesake was also responsible for the deaths of thousands and you barely take a second look at him. General William Sherman of the Union Army ran a devastating campaign through Georgia!"

"Not the name I would've picked myself, but at least I'm not in as rough a boat as Ulysses Grant Cortez over here."

"Dude!" Spinner hissed. "Birth name! Not cool!"

"So your folks are civil war buffs, I take it?"

"Yeah, but I guess it could've been worse. Our cousin's named Crazy Horse."

"I dunno, that sounds pretty badass," she contended.

"Yeah," Spinner provided, "but she'd much rather it were something normal like Debbie."

She guffawed; she actually guffawed and lost her breath. Faith was so amused she almost forgot to respond to her pseudonym when Zeke called for 'Hope.' "Gotta go sweetheart. I haven't laughed like that in a while. Dessert's on me, ok, babe?"

Spinner blushed and sank into the booth next to Sherman when she winked at him. Vert grumbled; Spin was even younger than he was! Could she not make up her mind? But seeing how embarrassed the older Cortez brother was, maybe she just liked to see people squirm. To be sure she was not vapid or boring, but there was still something about Hope that he just could not put a finger on.

The bell signaled a new customer and 'Hope' sauntered up to greet the latest visitor. There stood a handsome young man around her age, red-haired and with a familiar look of arrogance on his equally familiar visage. He swaggered through the entranceway like he thought he owned the world. He wanted everything he could get his greedy little hands on and would never take no for an answer. She could tell he was a spoiled rich little creep and proud of it. She tried hard to ignore his smarmy smile so as to keep from breaking his face.

"Hello, luv, have you got a table for me?"

"Sorry, sir, we're pretty full up at the moment," she said, trying not to raise her hackles at his grating British accent. "No tables right now. But there's still a space at the counter if—"

"Oh, _nonsense,_ darling," he said, pushing past her. "My brother's sitting over there with his mates. Just seat me right on the end. Thanks, luv."

He walked right by, pulling up a chair and ignoring her almost completely. He hardly paid attention when she recited the specials, barely looked at her as she took his order, and dismissed her totally to torment poor Stanford. It was difficult not to stab the guy.

Faith unloaded her problems to Grace when she got to the kitchen, complaining the whole time that she had to help that arrogant waste.

"Meh. Simon's not so bad. Annoying, but not bad."

"I don't like him, Gracie. If prison taught me one thing, it's how to spot a rapist from a long way off. Rich and sophisticated, my ass; that guy's bad news. If he even looks at you funny I'll rip him to shreds."

"When did you get so overprotective?" Grace asked with a small laugh.

"Gracie, you're all I've got left."

Sometimes, Grace wondered if she was just being used. Faith was desperate; a wanted criminal on the run and living under an assumed name. She would take any help she could get. And here was some sap of an orphan with no one, happy to take her in. But there were moments, tender little vignettes between them, when Grace was absolutely sure she had done the right thing. She smiled, starting a load of dishes.

"Well, now that you've said the 'R' word, I'm sure as hell not taking him off your hands."

"Oh, some family you are!" Faith laughed.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, at the Rhodes family reunion occurring back at the BF5's usual booth, Simon was once again making Stanford miserable.<p>

"What's the big deal, Stanford? Is it so difficult to admit that I'm stronger, better looking and faster—"

"You are not faster than me!" Stanford insisted.

"And that I have better luck with the ladies than you do? Face it, little brother," Simon said with a smirk, flicking him on the nose, "I'm better than you at everything."

Stanford seethed. "If you're such hot stuff, brother dear…then you shouldn't have any trouble bagging the waitress."

"Oh, Grace? Don't get me wrong, she seemed nice, but someone so easy to manipulate is rather beneath me."

Zoom twitched but said nothing and buried his anger, forcing himself to be cold like the rock and cool like the water.

"No, the new one," Stanford elaborated. "Hope. She hasn't been working here long and no one's managed it yet. Of course, if you're not man enough…"

Simon laughed. "Oh-ho! Growing a pair at last, are we, Stanners? Very well, old bean, challenge accepted. She'll be in my arms before sunset."

Stanford smiled. "All right, but should you fail, you must never set foot in Handler's Corners for the rest of your life."

"And when I succeed—and I will—you have to call Mum, Dad, _and_ Grandpapa and tell them you're a homosexual."

"But I'm not—"

"Doesn't matter, it'll be funny either way." Simon leered conspiratorially around the booth. "And Blondie here has to back you up as your boyfriend."

Vert glared. "We're in."

Stanford had been ready to back out just then, unwilling to risk his friend's honor on something so trivial even if a win was guaranteed. Still, it came as a great surprise to hear Vert agree so quickly; nice to know he had such faithful allies. The Englishman and the American shared a grin before he turned back to his brother. What great entertainment were they about to have!

"Deal, but you've at least got to touch her boobs before the night is over and pics or it didn't happen."

"Of course; it's only…_heheh,_ proper." They shook hands to seal the wager just as she arrived with Simon's meal. He turned on the charm as she put down his grilled tilapia, completely oblivious to the hostility that fell off of her in waves.

"Thanks ever so much, dear. I apologize for being in such a hurry earlier, but I just missed my poor Stanny-wanny so terribly," he cooed, pulling his brother in for a noogie. "Allow me to introduce myself. Simon Ian Rhodes the second, 188th in line for the throne. And you are?"

"Unimpressed," Hope said with a scowl. "Enjoy yer meal."

Simon raised his eyebrows, watching her butt as she walked away. He seemed disheartened for a moment, but suddenly he grinned. "I do so love it when they put up a fight." With a quick slurp of his milkshake he was off to make a fool of himself.

"I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot, luv. Perhaps we could start again? Tonight, in Las Vegas?"

"Sorry, I'm workin' the graveyard shift," she said, which was not entirely a lie. Since that whole business in Tibet had closed off the portals and Hellmouths all magic had left the world, though no known Slayers had been depowered. And even though no new vampires could be created, the ones who had been turned before the battle still remained. If she was going to be in town for a while, Faith figured she might as well check out the local haunts to keep the place safe, and what better place to start than the cemetery?

"So what's one night off, luv? Come away with me. It'll be brilliant, I promise."

"Word of advice? Charming English accents ain't so charming to a girl whose father was in the IRA." This was a complete lie; Faith's father was Irish American, but he was a petty crook. Never had he been even distantly associated with the Irish Republican Army, Provisional or otherwise, but that was her life as Faith. She had been meaning to come up with more details for her identity as 'Hope' and maybe this fit for her. More importantly, maybe it would get this royal pain to back off, but the desired effect was not achieved by a long shot.

"Ooh, a rebel of the sacred heart, you say? Mummy certainly wouldn't approve of that," he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "That adds a real air of forbidden fruit to your mystique. Now I simply _must_ have your phone number."

"Too bad yer not gettin' it ya sad ginger ponce," she snarled, unable to keep the Southie screech from her voice.

Simon leaned back, gasping in disbelief. It seemed the use of slang from his homeland had finally gotten through to him. "No need to be so rude, luv!"

"Well it's not like you've been smart enough to take the hints I've given you so far! I gotta spell it out for you, real slow-like." Feeling petty, she gave him a quick glance and sneered. "Also, your shoes are ugly."

"How dare you, you filthy commoner cock-tease!"

The diner suddenly got a lot quieter as she closed the distance between them and cracked her knuckles. The tension mounted, each customer watching with rapt attention. Some frat boys from Sagan University in the next county nudged each other in anticipation.

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed, jabbing him hard in the chest with her index finger. "When did I give you a single signal that I was interested in you? Sorry I'm smarter than the dumb whores you usually go for, but that superficial charm is pathetic! Assholes like you are a dime a dozen. 'Oh, look at me, I'm a pampered ickle rich boy and my mumsy dear says I can have anything I want!' Go buy yourself something shiny and get out of my face."

Simon narrowed his eyes, closing the fingers of his left hand into a fist. "If you were a man I'd beat you senseless."

"Even if _you_ were a man, _I_ could _still_ beat you senseless," she retorted. "But lucky for you I don't hit little boys."

Simon's eye twitched and his face went beet red as the people around him snickered. Without thinking, he grabbed her wrist as she turned away, yanking her toward him to strike. His usually impressive left hook, however, was caught in a crushing grip as the waitress twisted away, pulling him with her. The Englishman was thrown over her shoulder with great force and a loud, sickening pop echoed throughout the diner.

Simon screamed, holding a single, piercing note that went on for several seconds. His arm had clearly been wrenched from its socket. He gasped for breath to try and keep from screaming again, staring around at the joyful laughing faces that surrounded him. _Laughing!_ Some of the bastards even _applauded_ his pain! He looked back to his brother's table to see money changing hands. His eyes locked onto Stanford's and his heart filled with an indescribable rage.

"_**YOU!"**_ he howled. "You set me up!"

"Indeed I did, Simon. I only wish things hadn't gone so poorly for you."

"You malodorous little—"

"Well, I hardly knew you'd try to hit her, did I?" he claimed. "I thought you'd grab her bum, get a bop on the nose and be done with it! But, no! Typical Simon; you just can't let these things go."

"Why did you only ask for me to leave, then? If you knew you were going to win—"

"Not everyone's as much an arse as you, Simon. I like to think I've grown past these petty games. All I really want is for you to leave me alone, so that's all I asked for." He sighed. "It's not my fault you're too dumb to see when you're walking into a bloody obvious trap. But enough about that. How badly are you hurt, old boy?"

"Let me look," Zoom breathed, annoyed. As he kneeled gently down next to the injured man, he saw Grace and Hope out of the corner of his eye, getting back to business as usual. The slight young man poked and prodded, noting where Simon hissed. "Dislocated shoulder," he said casually. "Y'know, I really didn't appreciate you calling my girlfriend easy."

"What? ARGGH!" Simon thought he would pass out but after a moment or so the searing pain subsided to a dull throb. Slowly he flexed his fingers. "Actually, that's a lot better," he murmured, but gasped in pain again when Zoom clapped him hard on the back.

"No hard feelings, right? Ginger jackass…"

"What a sight you are!" Stanford exclaimed. "Tell me, Simon, how does it feel to get beat up by a girl?"

Blood pounded in his ears as he let the reality of the trick set in. Stanford had planned everything. There was never any chance Simon would win the bet, and maybe his baby brother had not planned for him to be seriously injured, but he public humiliation had taken place nonetheless. This impropriety would not stand. "This is your fault!" Simon snapped, pulling himself off of the floor. "I'll get you for this, Stanford! If it's the last thing I do, I will make you PAY!"

Grace went to chase him as he limped out the door in a huff, complaining that he did not pay his bill, but Stanford happily picked up the tab. It was a small price to pay to have Simon out of his hair for a while.

* * *

><p>AN: I can't decide whether Simon should be a misunderstood idiot or a villain. It really depends which story I'm working on, I guess. Sometimes he's a bumbling, self-centered fool who learns a valuable lesson and becomes a better man, but sometimes he's a calculating, self-centered asshole who will hurt anyone who gets in his way. I mean, I know where he's going in THIS story, but sometimes I want him to be a love interest or at least a good person who happens to occasionally be a complete dick. And then, sometimes I want him to do something evil and have terrible things happen to him as payback. And other times, I want him to be a victim who may have been a jerk but didn't deserve something truly horrible and Stanford feels bad but no one else does. I dunno. I guess I like him, even if he's only really been in one episode. I feel the need to put him everywhere. It's a compulsion! So I guess what I'm saying is...he'll be back /)^3^(\


	3. A Royal Beating

A/N: Ok, my mother just had a hysterectomy yesterday. She's recovering nicely, but she's still hospitalized, so I'm going to have to be spending a lot of time helping out with my younger brother and sister, possibly even my older sister's daughter and son, and _definitely_ a lot of time cleaning up after my useless alcoholic father. All of this on top of preperations for Thanksgiving, and I am SWAMPED. Fortunately, the massive amounts of stress are great for my writing, even if I have way less time to actually get some writing done. But here is another chapter of Gaining Faith anyway. I wanr you, it's kind of a dark one, even if some would consider it to have a happy ending. What do you think, Tezz?

Tezz: IT IS HEAVILY IMPLIED THAT I AM PUNCHING YOU!

Simon: OH GOD NOT THE FACE!

Yeah, that's what I thought ^_^;

* * *

><p>Grace hummed quietly to herself as she lugged the garbage out back to the dumpster. It was her responsibility to lock up that night as Zeke had been called away on urgent business—"urgent business" probably meaning that he was hunting aliens again. Even if her boss was a total dingbat, he was a nice man. Zeke had yet to suspect Faith of anything, so at least his silliness was to her advantage for once. Oh, sure, of course Grace felt bad lying to the old man, but her family was at stake. This was a matter of safety for Faith—"Hope," she whispered, reminding herself that this was the older girl's name now. No one suspected that "Hope O'Shaughnessy" was really Faith Lehane, even after a particularly violent day on the job. Now if they could just keep Sheriff Johnson fooled they were set.<p>

Grace froze momentarily when she heard something rustling behind her, but composed herself and casually straightened, refusing to show any fear. She showed no sign of acknowledging the threat but prepared to throw a punch and run—there was a man standing about ten yards behind her.

Ten yards became ten feet as he closed the gap between them, stepping calmly and purposefully through the dark, but he stopped right there just beyond the fluorescent overhead light. "You know," he said, "you lot really hurt my feelings today."

Grace sighed with relief, though not completely lowering her guard. "Oh, Simon! It's you."

He ignored her and continued. "I know I can be a spot of trouble from time to time, but your cousin overreacted. And then the way everyone laughed at me…" Simon stepped forward again, more of a stomp, even as she flinched back. "I thought you were a nice girl, Grace. I never dreamed you would allow something so horrid to come about at your place of work. I have never been so insulted in my life."

She could see Simon more clearly now that he had come a bit closer. His eyes were cold, dangerously narrowed; the few times she had seen him, he had never appeared so serious. He looked like a little boy who was accustomed to getting his own way and was about to throw a tantrum. But Simon was not a little boy. He was a tall, strong young man with broad shoulders.

And he did not look at all pleased with Grace.

The waitress turned to run, but Simon caught her by her wrist, pulling her in tight. Grace squeaked and tried to squirm away, but the Englishman held her close. They stood there in a twisted parody of a lover's embrace, him gently restraining her and her desperately attempting to escape. She cried out as he grabbed her ponytail and yanked it to hold her closer, but Grace was increasingly terrified that no one would hear her in this empty desert parking lot.

"Why are you so upset, darling?" he asked, turning her to face him. "I'm only looking for a little sympathy."

_No. No, this is not happening. No, God, why…_

Simon kissed her roughly; she bit down as hard she could and he yelped. He tossed Grace against the dumpster; she fell to the ground, and immediately scrambled back to her feet.

"You rotten little cunt!"

"Keep your hands off of me!" she screeched, running back around to the front of the diner. If she could just get inside there was a shotgun under the counter. She could worry about explaining it to the sheriff after she stopped this son of a bitch from raping her. But she did not have to worry at all, as it turned out.

"Hey, is everything—"

"Just start the fucking bike!" she cried, hopping on back of the Chopper. Zoom obliged, revving the engine and pulling out of the lot.

Simon cursed as he was sprayed with sand and gravel, but he did not give chase. If she talked to the police, and he was certain the mouthy commoner would, he would have problems that only Mummy and Daddy's money could fix and they had threatened to stop paying for lawyers after that incident with the prostitute. With a low grumble he closed the door of his ostentatious Aston Martin, knowing he had to leave and soon.

"A trip to Vegas is in order, think," he muttered as he accelerated. "They shan't have an easy time finding me in a big city, and it's only about calling MI6 from there."

* * *

><p>Vert sipped his hot chocolate as he continued to pour over the tax records. He was up in the office above the garage, his cell phone and communicator turned off while he worked. It was not an easy job, making sure the IRS paid no attention to his business. There had been some unusual and unexplained renovations and improvements, as well as 'employees' that Spectra Motors should logically have been unable to afford. Of course, all of this was free of charge, courtesy of Blue Sentient technology, but the government did not need to know that. No, he would have to cook the books if he were to keep the hangar, the garage and the old family house. Sure, he only kept the house for sentimental reasons since all members of the Battle Force 5 had their own private quarters in the hub, but his father would never forgive him if he came back to Earth and the bank had foreclosed on everything he had left his only son. And then of course, there was the matter of AJ's and Tezz's work visas and applications for citizenship; if Vert failed to file the correct paperwork in a timely fashion the genius and the athlete would be deported to their respective homelands. Sweet baby Jesus on a muffin, this was going to be a long night…<p>

In the garage below him he could hear the engine of the Chopper cycling down and stopping. Good, it was Zoom's turn to wash the dishes. But rather than go for the concealed elevator at the back of the garage, the footsteps started up the stairs towards the office. In fact, Vert was rather certain he heard two sets of footsteps. How curious!

"I think there's some cocoa in the pantry—Oh. Hey, Vert." Zoom chuckled and tried to cover his smirk. "Dude, since when do you wear glasses?"

Vert frowned as he shoved the folded red frames into a drawer. "I have trouble with small print. What are you doing here this time of night?" He blinked and his frown deepened to a concerned scowl as he noticed the bruised and frightened waitress. "And what happened to Grace?"

"It was Simon," she whispered meekly, her adrenaline having worn off and shock setting in. She clung to the monk's arm like a frightened child. "If Zoom hadn't come along when he had…I…"

Zoom kissed her forehead and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's okay, Grace. Just rest on the couch and I'll call the sheriff."

"No!" she cried abruptly. Calling the sheriff meant an investigation, which meant questioning Faith, which meant background checks and fingerprints and evidence and Faith going back to prison. Quickly she tried her best to come up with a credible lie. "No, Hope started this when she knocked him on his ass, and he escalated when he came after me. This is personal. He goes after a family, he better expect the family to come after him. I am _not_ going to the law for this. I have to take vengeance myself."

Zoom could understand where she was coming from, as honor and revenge were a big part of the culture he came from, though he had left that behind. Still, he thought calling the cops was a good idea. Vert, being generically white, could not identify with this attitude on a personal level. He did not approve of the approach Grace was taking, though an obsession with mafia movies in his youth made the concept sound familiar in a foreign sort of way. He shook his head, chalking it up to stress.

"Grace, you're in shock. I know you must be very upset about what happened, but the police will handle it. Simon won't get away with this."

"Yes, he will!" she snapped. "Vert, he's rich and white and his parents are very powerful! He'll weasel out of this, I know it! Screw the police, I'd trust Hope more with this!"

"Well, maybe we _should_ call Hope," Zoom soothed. "She'll want to know what happened and that you're okay. Maybe you'll feel better after you talk to her, hmm?" And by 'feel better' he of course meant 'you are being hysterical and I hope your cousin can talk some sense into you.'

"Great idea!" Vert chimed. "You two take care of that, and I'll go make some more hot chocolate while we figure this out."

Grace sat quietly on the offered couch, pretending to be enraged. Faith was used to lying, and hopefully she would come up with something better.

* * *

><p>The air at Angel's Rest was dry and freezing, the moonless sky so dark she could barely see. The shadows seemed to encroach upon her personal space, threatening to consume her. As she stalked past the tombstones, Faith had found evidence of a vampire nest, but it seemed to be currently unoccupied. The trail was cold and she had nothing to slay that night, but at least she had a decent lay of the land at this point. Tonight's patrol had been uneventful, but of the next? Who could say?<p>

A tinny version of "Black Friday Rule" issued from her pocket. Faith pulled out her cell phone, glancing at the caller ID.

"Spectra Motors?" she muttered, not entirely recognizing the company name. "Who are ya and whaddya want?"

"_Hope, it's Zoom."_

"How's it hanging, Little Z?" She smirked as she heard the exasperation in his sigh. Needling people was one of Faith's greatest pleasures in life. She loved being a sarcastic, cynical brat and annoying people, especially those who seemed a little too full of themselves. Takazumi seemed like an all right kid, but the kind of overconfidence he carried was bound to get him killed. "Wait, how did you get this number? Have you been stalking me? Listen, kid, I ain't no cradle robber. If you want a sugar mama you should look somewhere else."

"_Th-that's not what this is about!"_ he sputtered, and Faith laughed. _"Hope, Grace is here at the garage with us and she's a really shook up. You think you could run by and get her? She's totally freaked."_

She stopped her game, suddenly all business and completely unaware of a pair of eyes that watched from behind a mausoleum. "What happened? Is she okay?"

"_Simon came looking for her. I wanted to call the Sheriff but she flipped out."_

That was good news for Faith. If an investigation ensued, her trouncing of Simon was clearly his reason for attacking Grace. They would have to look into this mysterious cousin 'Hope' and invariably discover she was actually Faith. Her juvenile record alone would make most shrink away in fear, to say nothing of her psychiatric evaluation… Or the man she had killed in Sunnydale. Thanks to Grace, she had nothing to fear from the law, at least for now. But these facts were cold comfort to her as she stood there, alone in Angel's Rest Cemetery while the only family she had left in the world was scared and hurt. The possibilities of her state flew through her mind; how soon had Zoom gotten to Grace's aid? Just what had Simon tried or even succeeded at?

Faith pushed these feelings down and went cold, getting into her killing place. Nothing would touch her until the job was done. "Give Grace the phone, Zoom."

* * *

><p>"Uh, she wants to talk to you," Zoom said lamely, handing Grace the land line. She took it with a still shaky hand and nodded in thanks.<p>

"_Are you okay?"_

"I'm fine. Zoom got me out of there before things got too bad."

"_Did you see which way he went?"_

"North-ish? He'd complained about running low on gas. Maybe someone saw him at the gas station?"

"_Probably Vegas-bound, tryin' a get lost in the crowd."_ There was a momentary silence on the line as Faith paused in consideration. _"Are you sure you're not hurt?"_

"I'm more angry than hurt, believe me. I want that bastard to pay."

"_Ooo, scary!"_ she joked. _"Listen, how much do you trust Zoom? Do you think you'd be safe with him for a little bit?"_

Grace covered the mouthpiece. "Umm, guys, I don't want to be alone at the apartment. You think I could hang out here while I wait for Hope?" Zoom glanced at Vert apologetically, but the blonde nodded. Grace gave her cousin an affirmative answer.

"_Five by five. I've got an errand to run, but I'll be there soon as I can. The big hangar on Mechanic's Road, right?"_ The streets were not creatively named in such a small, working class town.

"Yeah, that's the place. I'll be waiting upstairs." She gratefully accepted the second cup of cocoa Vert offered her.

"So, time to call the sheriff?" he asked.

"Oh, no. I told you, Hope will handle it."

The two members of the Battle Force 5 shared a dubious look. What was one woman going to do?

* * *

><p>Faith turned her phone completely off, even taking out the battery, and stuck it back in her jeans. It looked like she had something to hunt after all.<p>

The once rogue slayer turned towards the entrance of the cemetery, trying to figure out in her head which way was North. It was then she saw the Aston Martin, garishly painted in the pattern of a Union Jack and parked just outside the gate. There was a scraping of leather soles on stone, the sound of a pebble bouncing off of a brick wall. Of course, most humans would not pick up those sounds from such a distance.

Then again, Faith was not most humans.

She reached into her jacket and passed on the knife in favor of a simple wooden stake.

* * *

><p>This time the sound of a particularly expensive and powerful engine alerted Vert to guests and he peaked out the window.<p>

"No," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "No, he wouldn't be that stupid..."

"What's up, Vert?"

"Simon just pulled into the garage," he growled, reaching beneath the desk and grabbing an aluminum bat. Zoom immediately took up a defensive stance in front of Grace, fully prepared to whoop some ginger ass.

Someone stomped up the stairs to the office, slowly, deliberately. Vert tightened his grip on the bat, wishing for once that the Sheriff would surreptitiously decide to drop in and see if they were doing anything suspicious. There was a knock at the door, followed by a feminine voice.

"Hey, you guys still here?"

Vert lowered the bat, sighing. "Come on in, Hope," he said with relief.

The brunette opened the door and entered the office, glancing to and fro until she spotted Grace. She practically bolted for her cousin, lifting her up and giving her a great big hug.

"That was fast," she commented. "Did your 'errand' go smoothly?"

"You know it, baby." 'Hope' looked the younger waitress over. "Jeez, that's a nasty shiner you got there. You didn't ice it while you were waiting for me?"

"Too busy trying to convince the boys not to call Sheriff Johnson. I told them you could handle Simon."

"Uh, speaking of Simon," Zoom interjected, "Why are you wearing his jacket?"

She glanced down. "Oh, I took it off him after I knocked him out. Bitchin' jacket, right? Real leather with a silk lining; go on, feel!"

"And was that his car you pulled up in?" Vert asked.

"Oh, yeah, I took the keys while he was unconscious."

"So, then where's Simon now?" Zoom wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, he's in the trunk. Mind if I borrow that, Blondie? Thanks. YOINK!" Vert stammered in protest as 'Hope' yanked the baseball bat from his hands. "About time Simon got schooled. Today's lesson, Vigilante Justice 101! Shake a leg, Gracie."

"Whoa, hey, time out!" Vert said, frantically waving his arms as he blocked the girls' path. "You got Simon, you popped him one, good for you, because he deserved it. Now I think it's about time we called the cops."

"Yeah, that's not happening," Grace insisted. "We got him right where we want him."

'Hope' was not nearly as nice about it. "Step aside, bright eyes. Now."

"Hope, what Simon did was horrible, but if you go through with this you'll be just like him."

"No, I won't, because he went after someone innocent, and I'm gunning for the guilty. You're in my way. **Move."**

"Hope, I know tempers are a little high right now, maybe you should have some cocoa while I call Sheriff J—"

Vert was cut off as she grabbed him by the shirt collar, pointing to Grace. "You see this girl, Blondie? She's all I got left in this world, my Grace Louise McCallister. Simon had beef with me, so he goes after her? Nuh-uh, that ain't happening." She paused, dropping him. "I'm not the kind of coward who would turn my attacker in when I can kick his ass alone. And likewise I ain't gonna let it slide that this son of a bitch hurt my cousin. I can take care of myself, kiddo. I don't need the law to come and save me, so quit telling me to snitch."

Vert's eyes widened in realization; Grace had indeed legitimately reminded him of _Goodfellas, The Godfather,_ and _Casino._ "You swore an Omerta! Oh, Jesus, Hope, what crime family are you on the run from?"

Hope smiled like an alligator, all teeth and hunger. "I never said that was the case," she told him. Of course, if Vert thought she was mafia, there was no reason not to take advantage of it.

After Zoom asked, Vert quietly explained that Omerta was the mafia code of silence; no one talked to the law, either handling their own problems in person or hiring thugs. Racketeers were likewise required to protect those they extorted, just as mob bosses protected those loyal to their organizations. Things were getting too hot for him. If Sheriff Johnson, the FBI, or the mob came poking around, their cover was blown. Vert knew acting scared was the best way to go, and he did _not_ have to stretch far to fake it; getting this crap as far away as possible was the only way they could continue saving the world.

"Hope, we don't want any trouble. Whatever you're going to do, don't do it in my garage and please don't use my bat as a murder weapon."

Hope let out a hearty laugh. "Murder? Oh, no, I don't do that anymore." She grinned when she noticed the boys exchange a worried look. "I was just going to scare him. See, Simon and I had a little talk after he tried to kidnap me outside the cemetery. He says he got nabbed with hookers and blow in LA last month and his royal 'rents swore that was the last time they'd ever pay his legal fees. They cut the purse strings and he's terrified he'll wind up someone's bitch if he goes to jail, so there's no _way_ Red'll go to the cops. We've got Simple Simon by the kiwis and there's not a damn thing he can do about it."

"But I _do_ get to hit him at least once, right?"

She blinked at the seemingly bloodthirsty Grace. "Huh? Yeah, sure, go for the knee caps."

"Grace, please listen to me for a minute," Zoom said quietly, gently taking her hand. "I know Lord Herpinzy Derp hurt you, and I'm angry, too, but you're better than this. Please?"

Grace locked eyes with Zoom, her conviction faltering. Faith looked back and forth between them, utterly shocked.

"Whoa, when the hell did this happen? Jeez, Gracie, he's _jailbait!_ What were you thinking?"

"Not all of us are into older married guys," Grace muttered. "I'm sorry I got so upset, Zoom. But…I still don't want the police involved."

He smiled at her. "I think I know what we can do."

* * *

><p>Simon trembled at the sound of a garage door being rolled down; if they wanted privacy, things were about to get very bad. He could hear voices, laughing and jeering, a few angrily growled epithets…at least four distinct voices, and none of them were that witch who had beaten him the second time in one day. This was worse than he had imagined. Finally, he thought he heard a small motor start up, possibly a lawn mower or a chainsaw. This was absolutely terrible!<p>

The trunk of the car flew open, blinding the Brit with fluorescent light. The burning brightness was interrupted by a smiling figure with curly hair, wearing Simon's sunglasses. He was yanked out by his neck and thrown to the floor, and as he managed to get to his hands and knees, he saw he was surrounded. His brother, all five of his friends he had known about previously and the two new boys glared irately, some grumbling, others cracking their knuckles in anticipation. Agura in particular looked ready to chop off his dangly bits and be done with it, but still was the look on her face not half as frightening as the smile Hope had for him.

"Hey, Simon, what's up?" she asked in a friendly manner. "Attempt any rapes lately?"

"Th-that was a misunderstanding!" he insisted, still not daring to stand up. "I-I-I was j-just expressing how upset I was about the diner patrons laughing at m-me. I was just telling her she hurt my feelings and then I was going to leave, I swear!"

"So was this before or after you endeavored to kidnap Hope outside the cemetery?" Tezz snarled. He did not have a particularly strong connection with Hope, but those who harmed innocent women and children were met with a very special level of hatred from him. His friends loomed over the redhead, murmuring their agreement.

"Very brave of you all to gang up on me like this."

"Oh, such contempt coming from such a tosser." Stanford shook his head, groaning with disgust. "You brought this on yourself, you know. If you had just had the sense to leave town, we wouldn't have to run you out."

"Let me tell you how this works, Simon," said an annoyed feminine voice. He had failed to notice Grace's presence; he supposed that waitress's uniform kept her in the background for him. "We're going to rough you up a bit—not too much, we're not monsters like you. Then you're going to get in that car and leave like a smart little boy. And you're not going to call the cops, because if you do, your own brother will testify that you assaulted me, and what a scandal that would be for the royal court!"

Simon stared aghast. Surely this woman was joking. "Stanford, please, this is madness. Think of your rank, of your duty to the family!"

"You should have thought about that before you went after people I care about. I'm closer with half the yokels in this town than I ever was with you. The citizens of Handler's Corners are beautiful, caring souls, and what you did is inexcusable."

"Likewise," Tezz added, "if you attempt any kind of legal action or set foot in Handler's County again, I will send your mother a copy of each gay pornographic film you appeared in while working for Mrs. Robinson Incorporated."

Simon chuckled nervously. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Ian, Ian, Ian," a chilling voice intoned. "Don't you recognize your ol' pal Johnny?"

Simon glanced up at the man who had occasionally sodomized him on camera and turned pale.

"Ready to take your lumps, big boy?" Agura growled.

Spinner raised his fist and yelled, "Woo! Take back the night!" Grace hefted a bat over her shoulder, sneering down at the captive Englishman as her compatriots closed ranks around him. This was going to suck… _AND NOT IN THE FUN WAY._


	4. Where the Wild Things Are

A/N: Just a short (well, short for ME because I do love to ramble) update on this one, basically saying Zeke's even weirder than we all think and Simon gets what he deserves. Of course, this will come back to bite our intrepid heroes, BITE being the operative word if your remember who Drusilla is. Y'know, Spike's old girlfriend? C'mon, the show may've been named after her, but there were more characters on the show besides Buffy Summers. And I happen to be combining universes here, so I figured, 'Hey, why the fuck not?' Am I right?

* * *

><p>The tense truce that Vert kept with Hope could only last for so long. She had sneered when he abstained from harming Simon, condescendingly accepting his silence. Maybe his friends were okay with ganging up on the Englishman, but the leader of the Battle Force 5 was a man of honor, mercy and forgiveness. Grace had been relatively unscathed by her ordeal and had taken a disproportionate retribution in his eyes. It was true that what Simon had attempted to do to her was unforgivable, but who were they to judge and mete out punishment? He was only human, and human problems were to be handled by the law.<p>

How had he allowed such violence to occur? How had he stood idly by while good, hardworking people he thought he knew beat the royal and sent him running like a frightened animal? Vert felt so dirty. There was a part of him that tried to rationalize their actions; that wanted to believe Simon had gotten what he deserved. But Vert discarded this notion for the truth: he had cowardly deemed Simon a necessary sacrifice to keep the BF5's secret. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, it was true, and surely his teammates felt no guilt in running Simon out of town, but in many ways Vert was far too sensitive. He felt too strongly for his fellow man. He knew the heir apparent to the House of Rhodes was a prick, but he still had wanted nothing to do with his punishment.

Every time Hope crossed his path, the blonde averted his eyes. He tried to understand the rage she had felt at her cousin's assault. He had been friends with Grace since they were small children, but even his ire at any harm coming to her had not been close to what Hope had jumped to. Vert was reminded of the time Spinner was abducted by Zemerik. Sherman had been an irrational mess, ready to fight the entire Sark army with his bare hands. He was a madman on a mission from God, and nothing could stand between him and rescuing his brother. Perhaps that was why the Cortez bros had been the first to answer Zoom's call to arms. But Hope's reaction had been..._different. _Cold as ice and hard as steel, like a dagger in the night. Perhaps it was because Vert was an only child and both of his parents were…gone…that he did not comprehend.

Still, Vert felt that Hope's reaction was unacceptable. Even if she was not connected to organized crime—he had jumped to this conclusion the night before at the slightest provocation and now felt terribly silly about it—Hope was clearly a woman who was used to getting her hands dirty. She had no problem resorting to violence from the very beginning. She had not shown any kind of fear in any of the altercations he had witnessed, meaning she was either insane, stupid, or both. Her lust for blood apparently had already infected the previously innocent Grace. Vert would have to be cautious his friends were not likewise corrupted.

"More like corrupted further," he murmured bitterly. Vert continued sharpening his sword.

* * *

><p>Yet another full moon and Zeke was nowhere to be found; the old man claimed the bright moonlight was perfect to hunt for alien artifacts. It did not bother Faith much that he was out gallivanting while she worked, or at least she told herself it did not. Sure, she had heard howling too distinct to mistake for any mortal creature. Yes, of course she had seen the strange lights that seemed to appear in the desert every few days or so. And, unlike the rest of the people in town, she had noticed the way the 'test drivers' from the garage owned by Spectra Motors always seemed to disappear when ever those lights happened—what kind of a work alarm said "Storm shock approaching!" in a worried female voice?<p>

This did not matter, she insisted. Faith had come to Handler's Corners to disappear. This was none of her business. She was no one, she was not even Faith anymore; she was Hope O'Shaughnessy and she was just a normal girl. She needed to pay attention to her work, keep the customers happy, smile pretty to get better tips, and more importantly, stay out of trouble.

Faith sighed. Yeah, like that would ever happen.

Eventually, she might look into the Spectra drivers, when she had some free time, but for now she would leave them alone. It was bad enough that Vert Wheeler had a bone to pick with her, but he was an okay guy; as long as she refrained from starting problems with him, he would leave her be. But the blonde struck Faith as the kind of fellow who would fight to the end once first blood was shed.

'_God, high school never freaking ends!'_

She had never excelled at social situations that required tact or charm—Faith was about as subtle as a knife in your chest. No, she may have been the best at what she did, but what she did was not very nice.

Grace was out with Zoom again, now that her bruise had faded and the diner was completely dead. Zeke had even told her if it was too quiet she could close early, the previous week being so prosperous. And there was that godforsaken howling again. Something was up and Faith had a sneaking suspicion it required the attention of her 'special talent.'

Shutting off the lights and locking the doors behind her, Faith ran headlong into the darkness. She peeled off her pink uniform blouse, much more comfortable in the black tank top beneath. Tucked into her belt were a few wooden stakes and her hunting knife, but also another recent addition. It was commonplace for there to be knives in any place with a kitchen, but Faith had nonetheless been surprised to find several sterling silver knives in Zeke's office. They were obviouslynot for cooking but _weapons_ and too well made to be purely ornamental. But there was no time to ponder over such a conundrum. She would stab first and ask questions later.

"Fucking werewolves," she hissed.

A lonesome howl tore through the air, Faith's skin crawling at the terrible noise. She had been lead to an old hangar in the middle of the desert, and there was a distinct rattling coming from behind the corrugated metal door. The lock did not stop Faith, nor did the sign warning that trespassers would be prosecuted. What did stop her was the mess on the floor leading up to a sturdy looking cage in the corner: tennis shoes kicked off in the nick of time and left intact, a shredded pair of khakis …and a ripped, baby blue polo shirt with a distinctive alien head on the left breast.

"Zeke," she breathed. The snowy white beast in the cage responded to his name, growling and throwing himself against the bars.

* * *

><p>"—And then they beat me and ran me out of town! Can you imagine? Me!"<p>

"The nerve of those filthy commoners," she soothed, gently stroking the royal's face. "Poor dearie…"

It was not often Simon found a countryman while stateside, but when he did, he took full advantage of it. English girls understood protocol and what it meant that he was who he was. English girls gave him the proper respect he was due as a member of the ruling class. Most English girls let Simon get away with just about anything, seeing it as a duty to their homeland, and the privileges they afforded him suited Simon just fine.

Drusilla was a sweet young thing, though a little vague in the head; the lovely, slender lady had sought Simon out from the beginning, assumedly drawn in by his masculine charm. She kissed him and grinned, saying she knew the desire for vengeance when she tasted it. Simon was a tad put off by this, but he soon found himself telling Drusilla the whole story, incriminating evidence and all. And she did not judge him, but rather comforted him over his ordeal. Of course, he had found it creepy when she had suggested various torture methods to use on Grace, and with such a serene expression, but it all sounded so right somehow. Simon was completely entranced by this girl. So when she offered to let him spend the night with her he accepted, the pair leaving the bar together and driving off to her apartment in his Aston Marten.

"Give us a kiss, luv," she softly whispered when he stopped the car.

The lifeless corpse of Simon Ian Rhodes II was found in an alley the next day, drained of almost all blood.

* * *

><p>The species classified by the supernatural community as <em>Lycanthropus Exterus<em> differed from the more common werewolf in a few key ways. Specimens typically possessed a head that was more canine than human as well as longer teeth, and Exterus was also bipedal, though it was capable of running on all fours. Add in the thinner fur coat, reverting to human form upon death and its status as a culinary delicacy among paranormal gourmets, and you had a very unique breed of werewolf.

One such specimen groggily raised his head from the cold floor of his steel cage, shielding his eyes against the rising sun.

"Ooooh, my achin' head," Zeke moaned, stretching to work out the kink in his neck. There were still two nights left on the full moon and he had a ways to go. The old man gratefully accepted the pile of clothes that was handed to him and began dressing, vaguely wondering if he would ever find a cure for what ailed him. Waking up naked in a secluded hangar with a splitting headache was no way to spend three days out of the month.

Wait, handed to—? Zeke yanked his shirt down, blushing brighter than an old man should, and turned to see a mildly amused employee of his.

"Hope!" he yelped, panic taking its hold on him. "I know this seems odd, but I can explain!"

"Werewolf, right?" she said nonchalantly, smirking in that unbothered way she always did and unlocking the cage with the key she had found. "Here's your knife back, by the way."

Zeke noted the way she offered it handle-first, recognizing one of the silver knives he had special ordered in case he ever started to transform at the diner. She knew! "Hope—"

"Don't worry about it, Zeke," she assured him. "You seem like you've got it under control. I'm not worried. I mean, hey, when's the last time you bit somebody?"

Goddammit, there was no getting around it. She knew. She was not running, she was not screaming, she did not appear to have any intention of killing him despite knowing what he was. Zeke sighed, scratching behind his ear with a sheepish grin. "Never, leastways not that I know of; I been keeping myself locked up on full moons since I got bit twenty years ago."

Hope grinned at him. "One good thing about being a scifi geek is you recognize the signs when you see 'em, eh, old man?" Hope playfully punched her boss in the shoulder, glad to see the smile return to his face.

"But how did you find me? I'm far enough out that most folks just assume the noise is from coyotes."

"Let's just say I ain't most folks." She smirked at Zeke's raised eyebrow and changed the subject. "You're a nice guy, Zeke. I'm glad you got this under control."

He grimaced. "Well, it'd be better if'n I didn't have it at all. Last thing I need is everyone finding out about the local freak…"

"I've seen worse, pal. You're secret's safe with me."


	5. Of Corpse He's Dead!

Stanford laid supine upon the couch, staring in stunned silence at his iPhone. Rather more specifically, he stared at the information displayed by the Royal People Magazine app he had installed. According to the newly updated database, Stanford had ascended one more place in line for the throne due to a death in the family. This was usually something he lived for, but the shock value was born of the fact that this relative was so young. This was not the same as when Great Great Uncle Mortimer had passed on quietly during his afternoon nap. For, not only had this relative been so shockingly young, but he had been torn from the mortal coil in a heinous and unnatural manner. The Royal People Magazine app also displayed the latest headlines of the notorious scandal sheet, proclaiming a brutal murder. How this had gotten into the tabloids before Stanford had even received the frantic, tearful call from his mother was beyond disgraceful. The shocked young royal continued to stare, dazed.

Eventually, the Cortez brothers wandered in wanting to play video games. "Quit hogging the couch!" Spinner demanded, trying unsuccessfully to drag him off the piece of furniture. Sherman simply lifted Stanford with one hand, sitting him gently on the end so there would be more room, but Spinner was still annoyed. He snapped his fingers in front of Stanford's eyes, looking for a reaction. "Earth to Stanford, come in Stanford, you're signal is breaking up. Do you copy? Hey, you royal pain! What's your problem?"

Eventually he blinked, slowly lowering the arm that held his iPhone. He sank into the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, bloody hell, I need a drink."

"Everything okay, Stanford?" Sherman asked politely.

"No. No, it's not." Stanford sighed. It was almost kind of funny, the way this had happened. Not so long ago the young royal had wished for his brother's death. How ironic that he should be so shocked now it had actually occurred.

Stanford absently wiped his eyes dry, ignoring Spinner and Sherman's inquiries. Why in God's name should he feel this knot in his chest? Simon was an unrepentant asshole. Why should the younger brother he tortured so often over the years feel such remorse? Sure, he had slept with Simon's fiancée, and set him up for public humiliation the last time they met, but… But nothing. Stanford was a terrible person. Eventually, the Cortez brothers settled for just sort of patting him on the back and telling him things would work out. Stanford nodded and went to find the BF5's intrepid leader.

"Vert, I need to be excused from battle zones on Monday."

Vert rolled his eyes; he had just been getting into a very deep conversation with Agura that was taking a turn for the better and he was not happy at being cockblocked—AHEM, interrupted. The look on his face told all present there would be hell to pay, and Stanford would be a convenient target for the blonde's misplaced aggression. Agura excused herself; she did not want to slip and fall in the testosterone.

"No. You're always making excuses, and I'm sick of letting you play us."

"Vert—"

"What is it this time, rich boy? Another royalty only party, maybe jetting off to some big Hollywood premiere? Please, your majesty, enlighten me as to why you can't fight, if you would be so kind!"

Stanford wilted under Vert's mocking gaze. "I have to identify a body."

Vert immediately put an arm around Stanford, his eyes wide with concern. He could tell from the look on the ginger's face that this was serious. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Stan," he said softly. "Jeez, I'm an asshole. What happened?"

"It's Simon," he said, sniffling. "He's…he's dead."

Vert furrowed his brows. "Are you sure?"

"Well it's what they told Mum, now, innit?" he gurgled, his nose beginning to run. "Officially, he has to be claimed by next of kin, and Dad's having a hard enough time keeping Mum from falling apart to do it, and I'm already here. I mean, I just saw him last week and he's—" the royal paused here, hiccupping "—Oh, God, I instigated the whole thing. We only had to kick his ass because I set him up and he didn't take it well and now he's dead. I'm a terrible person!"

"That's not true…" Vert awkwardly comforted his teammate with a lie, patting him on the back while he cried into the blonde's chest. "What do you know about how he…you know?"

"M-mother said they found him in an a-alley with a big neck wound. They know it's him from his face and fingerprints being intact. Oh, Vert, what kind of monster drains a person's blood like that?"

"A vampire, _duh,"_ Spinner said, rolling his eyes as he walked by. He ignored the glares he received until his brother pulled him back into the games room by his ear. Vert had been wholly prepared to ignore the comment, but Stanford lashed out.

"The bloody hell is your problem?" he demanded, following the Cortez brothers. "I've a death in the family, and you just bloody well crack jokes, la-dee-da, nothing's wrong, who cares? Fuck you, you scrawny wanker!"

"Stanford, I'm sure he didn't mean it like that," Sherman said, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Yeah, Stan," Spinner said. "I wasn't joking. That's what vampires do. They drink blood. I thought _everybody_ knew that."

"You spike-haired son of a—"

"Whoa, hey, easy," Vert soothed, leading Stanford away from the games room. "It's okay to be upset, Stan. I know you two had your differences, but he was still your family. I understand."

"I-I-I still just can't believe…Simon…"

"I'm sure he's in a better place now."

* * *

><p>Simon opened his eyes to absolute darkness. This had to be the worst hangover he had ever suffered. Where had he woken up this time? Why was it so dark and cold? He squirmed, trying to break free of…whatever it was he was wrapped in. The royal felt increasingly disturbed as he realized whatever it was that trapped him had a zipper. After much finagling, he managed to free himself.<p>

Simon cursed at the bright fluorescent lights, rubbing his eyes and groaning. When his sight finally adjusted, he noticed a lot of operation tables and medical equipment on trays. The far wall was lined with drawers; large, stainless steel drawers. With a small whine, Simon examined the black tarp—no, _bag,_ he had just crawled out of.

"I was in a body bag!" he whispered in shock. They thought he was dead! Just how hard had he partied last night?

And then it came back to him. The car, the alley, the English girl. _"Give us a kiss, luv…"_ The fangs tearing into his throat. He had died, yes…but he had not _stayed_ dead. Oh, dear.

And yet, he did not feel at all frightened by this. No, Simon was not scared or disgusted by what he had now woken as. Those reactions were beyond him now, too little, too _human._ Those reactions would almost certainly have required a soul. This was not exactly what he had been known for when he was alive, and thereby it was a miracle he had failed to kill someone in his first five minutes as a…a…

"A vampire," he growled in satisfaction. Simon laughed. If the old stories were true—if _Dracula_ and _Fright Night _and _Salem's Lot_ were right, and not those lame Stephenie Meyer novels—then he knew exactly what he was going to do with his new found power. That slag waitress was in for a sharp surprise when he got back to Handler's Corners! And so was his idiot brother.

Simon turned his head abruptly, hissing—wow, okay, he had just hissed; that was new—at the sound of approaching footsteps. Two orderlies entered the morgue. Neither one ever came out.

* * *

><p>"It's okay, Stanford. Let it all out." Agura cringed as the royal obliged, sobbing just as openly as when Hope had reminded him of Genevieve. Sighing, she held him close on the couch and tried not to roll her eyes as most of the team tried their best to comfort the Englishman.<p>

"We're all really sorry for your loss, Stan," Zoom intoned. Guiltily, he looked across the room and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, just out of curiosity, he wouldn't have happened to die from injuries sustained when we, y'know, ran him out of town?"

"Not unless one of you tracked him down in LA and slashed his throat!" Stanford squealed. "Oh, he was such a jerk! He was always playing fast and loose with people's feelings and always making enemies. Anyone could've done him in. And he was always so mean to me! Why should I even c-care that he's-he's…SIIIIIIMONN! WAAAAAAAH!"

Vert nudged the scout in his ribs, frowning in disapproval. This was no way to spend a Friday night.

* * *

><p>It had been no chore to track down Drusilla. She was at the same bar he had met her in, and she kissed him the same way.<p>

"You still desire vengeance, dearie," she lilted. "I can taste it."

"That I do. But first, can you tell me why you turned me?"

She shrugged and smiled. Her eyes were half-closed and she was swaying to a song only she could hear. "I was bored."

Simon frowned. "Really? No plans to build an army? No plots for world domination? You made me a soulless creature of the night because you _fancied a bit of sport?"_

"Yes," she said simply, as if that was the only answer required.

"Huh." Simon put his hands on his hips, completely resolved. "I get it now. You're crazy. Fine, well, unless you mind, I've got to gather some thugs to kill my brother and his idiot friends. Have fun being a nutter!"

"You're stronger than ten men and you have need to gather thugs? Your bruv must have some strapping friends."

"One of them dislocated my shoulder last time, and I've no intention of taking chances when their painfully slow deaths are so essential to my happiness. Have you any other objections or may I go now?"

Drusilla sipped her drink, and Simon wondered if it was just for show. Could vampires even eat or drink normal stuff without getting sick? He knew after draining those orderlies he never wanted to drink anything but blood again. Hot, sticky _blood_ coursing into his mouth as he swallowed every drop in joy, his hunger sated for a time; he felt strong, virile, and _deadly._ When Simon put on his game face nothing could touch him anymore, not even the nutcase who had sired him, and especially not that Irish twat, Hope.

"Oh. It's _her,"_ she said. "Oh, dear. That's going to be ever so messy."

The royal snarled at Drusilla, careful not to bare his fangs. "What the devil is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I've had a look inside your mind, dearie, and you're going to need more thugs."

* * *

><p>Stanford wiped his eyes. He had too much to worry about. He had to keep an eye on the base while his mates went to Vandal. Even though the royal hated that planet, he would have welcomed the icky humidity, the nasty bugs, and the rapacious Vandal warriors as a distraction. He just needed to get away. But before long he was to drive to Los Angeles, heading straight for the morgue.<p>

But as his friends fought for their lives, Stanford wound up fighting for his sanity. There was another update on his iPhone. The news it gave him was so terrible, so wretched, that he came to hate the device and swore to Steve Jobs' ghost he would never purchase an Apple product again and would soon be a proud Android customer. His friends found him like that, shaking with rage and too shocked to speak coherently as Sage tried to soothe him.

"What's happened now?" Vert asked, dreading the answer.

Stanford could only sputter and throw his phone through the open air, where it bounced off the side of the Mobi, shattering.

"It is his brother Simon," Sage intoned sadly. "His corpse has gone missing."


	6. A Man of Wealth and Taste

A/N: WOOHOO! I'm not dead! I am, unfortunately, stuck on my main stories. So haz some crossover!

* * *

><p>Stanford had given up on crying the day before, having gotten all that sorrow out of his system. He simply had no tears left to shed. Now there was nothing in his heart but a swiftly building rage. Someone had killed his brother, and now someone had stolen the body. Were they expecting a <em>ransom?<em> Who had the audacity to _do_ such a thing? In terms of the Kubler-Ross model of the five stages of grief, Stanford had completely bypassed denial and bargaining, going straight for depression, and then zipped backwards to anger again.

The more sane and cautious members of the Battle Force 5 were helpless to calm the royal, and he exhausted every curse word he knew—Every. Single. One. In both British _and_ American English, a wee bit of Spanish, and a respectable amount of French.

"When I get my hands on whoever did this!" he seethed, beginning to giggle in his hysteria. "I don't care about the sodding secret! I don't care about saving this bloody ungrateful world! I want them dead! I want their whole family **dead!** I'll go at them with everything I can lay my hands on and _crucify _their firstborn!"

"Easy, Stanford…Easy!" Vert put an arm around the redhead, trying to comfort him as he had the previous day. "I get it's been a rough weekend, but this isn't going to make you feel any better."

"The only thing that's going to make me feel better is finding who did this and making them pay!" Stanford insisted, slapping Vert away. "We've got all of this alien tech at our disposal! Tracking this son of a bitch down like the dog he is should be child's play!"

"It would also be _irresponsible,"_ Sherman stressed. "Do you have any idea how many people would be on our asses if we just rolled into LA with our weapons out? We can't afford to let the world know what we're up to right now, Stanford. It's too risky."

"It's not our job, Stan," Vert reiterated, hardening his gaze. "The police will handle it."

The Englishman forcibly calmed himself, dusting off and standing up straight. "You're right, of course," he sighed meekly. "Do forgive me, Vert, I seem to have lost my composure a bit."

"Just a bit?" Vert asked, smirking.

Stanford rolled his eyes at his leader's sarcasm, but he did manage to crack a small smile, and that was all Vert was looking for. As the audiophile's temper had cooled, Vert offered to treat his teammates to some late night comfort food. Once again were they off to Zeke's Diner at eleven thirty on a Sunday night, every human member of the Battle Force 5 hungry after a tough zone and a long day. After something so traumatic as losing a loved one, what Stanford needed most was some down time with his friends.

* * *

><p>"Oh, come on!" Grace complained, rolling her eyes.<p>

Faith nonchalantly raised an eyebrow as the door jingled, signaling more customers. It was nearly midnight, though they were open until one, but Grace had been hoping to close early. Did the Spectra Motors crew really need pie that bad? But one look at the clearly shaken Stanford was enough to confirm they did. Faith noted that Grace's expression had changed to one of genuine concern as she flitted to Zoom's side.

"What's wrong? Why's everyone so bummed out?"

"Stanford's had a death in the family," Agura said gently, patting the Brit on the back.

"I'm so sorry to hear that." Grace gave him a quick hug. "Was it your Aunt Gertie? Your mother's facebook page said she was sick, but it sounded like she'd recover."

"It was Simon," Stanford said blankly. "He's been murdered."

"Oh no," Grace said, trying her damnedest not to say 'good riddance.' "How terrible. Hope, isn't that terrible? Hope!"

"Huh? Yeah, awful. Real shame. Downright tragic." That was a close one! Faith had almost failed to answer to her assumed name. Man, she needed some sleep, but she would never get it as long as she had to cater to these damn kids. "Anything I can get you folks in your time of need?"

'Hope' took their orders and got things started. She ducked back out to check on things just in time to hear her younger cousin ask as tastefully as possible just how Simon had died, only to receive a violent answer.

"He had his throat ripped out," the Englishman wearily replied. "I was supposed to identify the body tomorrow, but it's gone from the morgue. Dad called back and said there were two orderlies missing, too." Stanford scowled. "Peasants probably took it hoping for a ransom."

Now, _that_ raised some major red flags, but Faith never showed any outward signs of even hearing them. She merely went back into the kitchen, rifled through her purse, and tucked a couple of wooden stakes into her apron. Maybe she was paranoid…or maybe her slayer instincts were acting up. It was too early to tell.

It was strange, but since her arrival in this town, there had been no violence—well, not of the supernatural sort. Faith had needed to knock out some local jerks, but there was nothing serious like a robbery. The werewolf she heard on the salt flats had turned out to be her boss, who very conscientiously kept himself locked up on full moons. What had clearly been a vampire nest in the cemetery was no longer occupied and showed signs of not having been for a few days, and all the other mausoleums were likewise empty. She had not run into any demons or witches, though since the Seed of Wonder had been destroyed there was supposed to be no magic on Earth and furthermore no new vampires, but Faith refused to believe for a second that would last. By all accounts, Handler's Corners was a quiet and peaceful town, and the rogue slayer had yet to encounter anything nasty.

Faith figured that meant she was about due. A throat wound and a missing corpse spelled V-A-M-P-I-R-E in her book, and she would not be caught unaware.

* * *

><p>Stanford sulked as he nursed his Grape Fanta, his friends failing to cheer him up. This was just something he needed to get through, and it was going to take some time. It just irked him so horribly that anyone could die in such a manner, and the police merely shrug and tell people to move along. The royal never understood how his brother had found big, bad cities like Los Angeles so thrilling when so many terrible things were happening in those mean streets and dark alleys every day. And now he had gone and gotten himself killed like an idiot. Their poor mother would fall apart; Stanford always knew she had liked Simon best and she was bound to be devastated by his demise. And then of course, there was the little matter of <em>succession<em>.

Stanford had dreamed he would someday be the Lord Rhodes, but not like this. He had always hoped against all hope that his parents would disinherit Simon because he was always getting into trouble. Or that, like their older sister, Scarlett, Simon would renounce his title in order to live a life where he no longer needed his Mummy and Daddy's constant approval. Oh, if Simon had turned out to be gay, that would have been perfect; Stanford could have lived his life happily and his parents would have given Simon the world on a string to keep him from telling their conservative friends.

But no. Simon had to go and get murdered in the streets like a peasant. What business had the cultured aristocrat even had in a dark alley?

With Simon gone, Stanford was now the heir apparent to the House of Rhodes. And now that Stanford had that power, something he had longed for and dreamed of since he was small, he was no longer sure he wanted it. It was a lot of responsibility, now that he thought about it. And his parents would almost definitely want him to come back to England for good; as frantic as they were about Simon they would want to keep an eye on their one and only remaining son. Of the three Rhodes children, Scarlett had renounced the royal family to pursue a career in criminal psychology, Simon had teetered on the edge with his movies and legal troubles, and Stanford was…Stanford. He was the last one, and if anything happened to him, the family lands and titles would be divided up amongst relatives. He had been the baby of the family, and no one really thought he would amount to anything. This made Stanford want to prove himself, to prove that he was somebody, a _contender._ He had done so to himself enough on his missions with the Battle Force 5. He was a marksman, an artillery expert, and a good soldier. He did not need to be a Lord of the Royal family, not anymore. But it was looking more like he had no choice.

Stupid Simon. Even dead, he was ruining everything.

"We're all really sorry for your loss, Stanford," AJ reiterated, putting an arm around the Englishman and giving him a gentle squeeze. Stanford shrugged noncommittally and slurped his soda, looking enviously at his teammates; it was awfully stupid of Vert to suggest going out for ice cream, seeing as how Stanford was lactose intolerant. Oh well, at least the blonde's heart had been in the right place.

Stanford's few minutes of quiet introspection cooled his anger, and now that the shock of this terrible weekend was wearing off, he realized that there were probably no battle zones coming up for a few days. Between that and not actually having to go to LA now that his father had requested an MI6 agent be sent to take care of things, bereavement was going to be very dull indeed.

That was his last thought before he heard AJ yelp.

"What's up?" Vert asked attentively. The blonde followed his best friend's gaze to the window, his mouth hanging open. "Uhh, Stanford, about your brother."

"Yes, I know, it's all so tragic," Stanford muttered, not looking up. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do now. I guess I just have to accept that Simon is dead."

"Yeah?" Spinner pointed frantically to the spot where his friends stared. "Well, someone oughta tell _him_ that!"

Frowning, the royal brat turned to look out the front window of the diner. Simon stood there in the parking lot, right as rain, with nine other young men climbing out of a pair of unmarked vans beside him. He smiled and said a few words to his friends, then walked to the door. Stanford laughed and ran to his side.

"Simon!" he cried, embracing his brother. "You're alive!"

Simon quietly chuckled, patting Stanford on the back, indulging him for the moment. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose."

"But what's going on?" the younger Brit begged. "What happened in LA?"

"It's quite simple, brother dear. I died."

"What? But you're right here!"

"Well _obviously,_ I didn't _stay_ dead."

The Battle Force 5 watched in shock as the dead man picked Stanford up by his shirt collar and flung him across the room. The younger redhead landed by the register, hanging over the counter and moaning in pain.

"Stanford!" Vert cried. The blonde and his teammates prepared to leap to the rescue, but the Battle Force 5's attempt to save their friend was cut off. Six of Simon's associates crowded around the table, keeping everyone in a neat little group and preventing escape. The heroes were shoved back into their seats by the unusually strong thugs, forced to watch as AJ was yanked up by his hair. The pale Canadian indignantly hurled insults as he was dragged from the booth, thrashing like a wild moose, but the man who grabbed him held him tight and sank his teeth into his throat. AJ's frantic scream died off a few moments late and gave way to ragged, pained breathing, and his captive lowered him to the floor, licking the blood from his lips as AJ's friends stared on in shock.

Just then, Grace picked the worst possible moment to step out of the kitchen, unaware and loaded down with their orders. She backed out, pushing the kitchen door open with her butt, balancing their orders. "Okay, so who ordered the—? Oh, crap."

Simon grinned as he knocked the trays from her hands. The Englishman's grin turned into a sneer and he turned towards the waitress, grabbing hold of Grace's throat and lifting her above his head. He stared into her frightened face as he extended his fangs to feed and took on a demonic countenance, his cold, yellow eyes boring into her very soul.

"Let me tell you how this works, Grace," he hissed, his words an ironic echo of what the waitress had said the night her friends had run the royal out of town. "We're going to rough you up a bit—not too much, wouldn't want the fun to be over too quickly. Then we're going to take you to the abandoned mineshafts outside of town. Once we're there, my associates and I will turn all of these people into vampires, at which point you will have the pleasure of being ripped to shreds and devoured by the soulless monsters that used to be your friends." He paused, chuckling again. "Except for Stanford, of course. I do believe I'll let him join you as the main course. I figure you two will be a light snack until we can get to LA to feed our new family. How lovely that will be for us."

A deep throated chuckle sounded through the diner; this was going to suck in a way that Simon had come to enjoy.


	7. Ashes to Ashes

A/N: YAY! Can haz crossover! I think I've got one more chapter in me for this, and that's it. After that, Faith may show up as a waitress or around town in my other stories. FUN FACT: This story has gotten precisely 666 views. THAT IS SO METAL!

* * *

><p>Before their stunned eyes, the man bit into his own wrist and kneeled down next to AJ. "Drink," he commanded, grinning down evilly, but AJ was disgusted and refused to let the crimson liquid touch his lips. The platinum blonde lashed out feebly with his fist, weak from blood loss, and got punched out for his trouble. A taller member of their little group sidled up, laughing at AJ's unconscious form; why not just drain the human while he was out cold? The pale Canadian was undoubtedly big enough for them to share.<p>

When he stopped laughing, Simon pushed Grace down into a seat in another booth and rolled his eyes. "Just leave him!" he demanded. "We've still got the rest of them to deal with, remember? Take care of his friends, and _then_ you can drain AJ if you're still thirsty. We've got a buffet, boys! Why fill up on one dish when there are so many to sample?"

The first two vampires grinned apologetically around their fangs, looking more sheepish than one would think possible for a pair of predators. "Sorry, boss," they said in unison.

Simon snapped. "Well, don't just bloody well stand there, you twats! Take care of the other big guy so you can move on to his mates!"

Nodding, the idiotic vampires closed ranks around Sherman while the rest of their gang tossed suggestions back and forth on who preferred to feed on and sire which human.

"I always liked dark meat," one of the vampires sneered, showing Agura his teeth as he moved closer. "Don't be scared, baby. We've got an eternity to get to know each other."

"Not on your life, creep!" Heedless of the danger, Vert leaned in front of her and scowled at the vamp, making a fist.

"Un-life, actually," he corrected, hissing. He turned back to Agura. "You know what it's called when a vampire makes another vampire? 'Siring.' I'd be your sire. So late at night when I ask you 'Who's your daddy?' I want you to remember that, okay?"

"Go to hell!" Vert spat.

The vampire leaned in quite close, licking his lips and baring his fangs. "Oh, I've been there, thank you. It's actually quite nice this time of year."

"Forget those two! This one's real beefy," another one of his friends growled, grabbing Sherman's face. Already held back by two more vamps, the brawny Cortez was now helpless against his captors. He feared for his life now more than he ever had against the Vandals or the Red Sentients. These men—these _things_—were too human, too real. And now the one who had his eyes on Agura was talking about vampires! This was illogical and scientifically impossible! There was no such thing as vampires! Yet had Sherman not been warned by his brother about Simon returning as a vampire? Had Spinner not said Simon's throat wound and the royal's missing corpse meant he would come back? It was a ridiculous superstition, yet here they were, plain as day. …Or rather, blackest night.

"I can't wait to taste your blood," he hissed, turning Sherman's head up and exposing his neck. Tears stung Sherman's eyes and he whimpered. He shut his eyes tightly, waiting to feel those fangs tearing into him.

"Son of a bitch!" The vampire sputtered, lurching back. The other two vampires that had been holding Sherman yelled and cursed, letting him go. When the younger Cortez opened his eyes again the vampires appeared to be suffering from acid burns and his older brother was brandishing a bright orange water pistol.

"Not my brother, bloodsuckers!" Spinner cried. "Go back to Transylvania!"

"Why you little—"

"Bad vampire!" Spinner yelled, squirting him again. "Sit! Stay!"

When he saw Sherman staring at his brother questioningly, Spinner only grinned. "Holy water," he confirmed. "Told you stopping at the church was a good idea. Now everybody get behind me!"

The gamer hopped out in front of the booth, pulling a sharpened wooden cross from his waistband as he ushered his friends back into their seats and pushed the vampires further away. This was his moment. Spinner had played enough fantasy games and seen enough horror movies to know where this was going long before Simon's return. A quick trip to Santa Rosa Cathedral had been a precaution his little brother had barely tolerated, but Spinner knew it was vital to their survival. He procured holy water and a wooden cross, which he had sharpened to a point for just such an occasion as the predicament they found themselves in tonight. It was true that Spinner Cortez was physically the weakest member of his team. But he was genre-savvy enough to be the only person to see this coming a mile away.

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men," Spinner intoned, brandishing his cross-stake and water pistol at the vampires who surrounded their table. "Blessed is he who in the name of **charity** and _goodwill_ shepherds the weak through the valley of **darkness**, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will _strike down upon thee_ with **great **vengeance and furious **anger** those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord **when I lay my vengeance upon thee!"**

The diner was filled with sizzling sounds and screams as Spinner doused three more undead creatures with holy water, his face contorted with righteous anger. The remaining three nameless vampires who had not suffered from Spinner's attack backed away, unsure; it was true the holy water would only weaken them in such a small amount, but it would still burn terribly and those bits of scripture made them terribly nervous. With his mortal friends huddled around him, the only avenue of attack was a frontal assault, and the prospect of more burns deterred them.

Simon growled in frustration, throwing his clawed hands up in the air. "Ugh! I have to do everything myself!" Menacingly he glided across the floor, moving so smoothly his feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. In a lightning-quick moment he was holding Spinner up against his body, an arm across the gamer's chest to keep him restrained. "There, I got the big bad runt. Now hurry up and sire his friends before I lose my patience!"

Still recovering from their burns, the first three lunged at Sherman, holding him down again and preparing to bite. This was it; Sherman was done for!

Something small and wooden whizzed through the air, striking one of the vamps who held the younger Cortez, and his cohorts were covered with dust. Hissing furiously, they dropped Sherman and turned towards the kitchen door. Standing there with a wooden stake in each hand was the second waitress, Grace's beloved and deadly cousin.

"Yo, deadheads!" Faith called out. "We don't serve your kind around here. Let the mortals go, and nobody else has to leave in a dust buster, got it?"

Simon sneered. "What a shame, and she was such a young idiot," he hissed. "Kill her!"

Enraged at the destruction of their comrade, two vamps rushed at her while the others hung back to enjoy the show. One Kung-Fu action sequence later both were nothing but dust on the floor, and Simon's six vampire minions stood gaping at her the Boston native's display. Spinner took the opportunity to hiss instructions to his leader, who took advantage of the undead posse's distraction by sneaking out the front door right under their noses.

"She's a slayer!" one of them exclaimed, moving to flank her, and Faith pounced on him, staking him through the heart. Momentarily blinded by the dust, Faith was briefly overcome by the five vampires now punching and kicking her way.

* * *

><p>Usually, Vert would be offended and angry that Spinner was giving him orders. But tonight was no ordinary night, and the elder Cortez brother had proven himself brave and intelligent enough for close quarters combat.<p>

He did not trust fortune tellers or believe in ghosts. Vert had never believed in vampires, witches, demons, or werewolves; he took no stock in dark tales of things that went bump in the night. The leader of the Battle Force 5 did not even dress up on Halloween. Maybe it was his mother's mental illness and the way she so quickly began believing in the supernatural that made him distrustful of such things. Two years ago, Vert Wheeler would never have believed in vampires.

But hey, he fought aliens on a regular basis. So who was he to question it when Spinner insisted he retrieve his sword and start taking heads?

Grabbing his sword from the Saber, Vert suddenly stumbled and fell, yelping at the intense pain as a fist slammed into his kidney. A man about his size but still much stronger stood above him, picking him off the ground by his shirt collar, and from the way the light glared off of his teeth he knew it was the guy who hit on Agura. As the blonde prepared for the worst, he thought suddenly that he had never gotten a chance to see his family reunited and that he had always wanted a wife and child of his own, now believing the end was here. The vampire hissed, moving his mouth down to Vert's neck…

And then suddenly the blonde was coughing, sputtering, and covered in dust. As he recovered, Vert looked up at the man who had saved him and took his offered hand.

"Sheriff Johnson?" he asked, incredulous even as he was helped to his feet. "Oh, thank god. That guy was crazy, I think he was on drugs or something!"

"Don't be _stupid,_ Wheeler, that was a vampire."

Eyes widening, Vert realized the wooden stock of the twelve-gauge shotgun the sheriff was holding had been sharpened to a wicked point. _'So he's done this before,'_ Vert thought, gulping. "Okay, yeah, well, there are more vampires in the diner."

"And you were running," the sheriff sneered, moving for the door.

"I wasn't running!" Vert insisted, pulling his sword from the Saber. "I was getting _this!"_

The sheriff raised his eyebrows in appreciation. "Considering the situation, I'm not even going to ask where you got that. Let's roll," he said, heading for the door.

Vert hefted his sword as he caught up, but he and Sheriff Johnson both reeled back to avoid broken glass as a living corpse sailed through the air. With one clean maneuver the blonde sliced the vampire's head right off and allowed himself a split second to be amazed as it crumbled to dust. Seeing the sheriff nod in approval, Vert took a defensive stance and moved forward.

* * *

><p>A well placed roundhouse kick sent one vamp flying through the plate glass window at the front of the diner, and Faith paused to sneer at the remaining four vampire minions around her in various states of health (or at least what passes for health when one is an undead abomination).<p>

"You have any idea who you're _dealin'_ with, freaks?" she asked, punctuating her statement by staking another of their ranks. "You don't scare me. I've killed things you don't even have a name for."

"We'll drink you dry, slayer," one of them hissed stupidly.

Simon had taken Spinner's water gun, crushing it beneath his heel. "Go ahead and kill as many as you like, love!" Simon called manically, clawed fingers at his hostage's throat. "I can always get more. And even if you beat me, my mistress, Drusilla, knows that you're here. She'll lead an army to—"

Faith burst out laughing, leaving herself open to an attack. One of Simon's last three brutes landed a punch to her gut. He was prepared to rip the slayer's throat out, but the undead royal stopped him.

"The bloody hell do you think is so funny?" he demanded.

"Drusilla?" she asked, calling his bluff. "Fucking _Drusilla? _Skinny English girl, Victorian era, completely batshit insane? That crazy bitch couldn't lead a kitten out of a paper bag, let alone an army." Faith lost control and snickered. "Drusilla, Jesus. Who do ya think yer tryin' ta kid, ya stupid limey fruitcake… Heheh, Drusilla." With a smile, she turned her head to look at the vampire holding her. "You can let go of me now, chief."

In response, the vampire hissed, ready to bite, but Faith kicked backwards into his groin. Wailing with pain, he clutched his gonads and retreated back towards the door. His head promptly exploded with a thunderous bang as a hail of buckshot shredded through his brain and spinal column at point blank range, and the rest of his body turned to ashes in a flash of green light.

Sheriff Johnson fixed his cold gaze on Simon. "Aint' _NO_ bloodsuckers allowed in _**MY **_town," he said, chambering another round. **"THAT'S THE LAW."**

Faith grinned. "Bubba, you magnificent bastard." Between her own ministrations and the surprise support of Spinner, Vert, and now Sheriff Johnson, Simon only had two hoods left. This would be over quick.

The smart thing for these vamps to do would have been to run. Rumors circulated for years that Handler's Corners was the vampire Hotel California: they could check in any time they liked, but they would never leave. A hunter sheriff, _and_ a slayer working at the diner? No wonder demons warned their little hellspawn about this place when they tucked them in at night! The last two minions took a good long look at each other as if planning one final assault together but at the last second one turned and ran. The first rent-a-vamp lunged headfirst at Faith, raising his fist for a powerful haymaker. But he practically telegraphed the punch and there was more than enough time to dodge it. Sidestepping the attack, Faith got behind her opponent and rammed the stake in under his shoulder blade. He fell with a scream and a flash of green light. This still left the runner, but Faith threw her stake expertly, and a moment later there was nothing left but dust.

Faith smiled at Simon, who looked terribly surprised. As a member of the royal family, he was used to giving orders and those orders being followed. He never dreamed he would be left on his own, out in the lurch and cut off from his fortune. This was supposed to be a simple job before he started over, a quick pit-stop on the road to the rest of his immortal un-life! Now he was…

Well, in a word, he was knackered. He was screwed. He was fucked up the ass with a band saw, sideways, with no chance of a reach around. Simon was in a world of trouble, and he damn well knew it. About the only thing the undead royal had going for the moment was that he still had a hostage. And of course, Simon being Simon, he immediately screwed it up.

The redhead chuckled nervously. "Oh, come now, ladies and gents! I was only kidding!" he insisted cheerfully. He moved his arm from across Spinner's throat to around his shoulders, buddying up to the captive gamer. "Stanford and I set this up on a lark, to give you all a good scare. How was I supposed to know the actors I hired would turn out to be real, honest-to-goodness vampires?"

"Actors?" Faith asked with a condescending smirk. "Yeah, sure, and I bet that's just monster movie makeup, too."

"Yes, that's it exactly!" Simon enthused, jumping on the explanation. "And it itches like the dickens, I tell you. I say, Stanners, are you all right over there? I was afraid I had perhaps thrown you a bit hard, old boy."

Stanford continued to lay unconscious on the diner counter, hanging limply over the register. His hand twitched and he grumbled, but then he moved no more.

"Silly lad," Simon said with an uncomfortable laugh. He leaned down to Spinner as if they were the best of friends, speaking to him in a conspiratorial half-whisper. "I told him to practice his stage falls before we went curtain up. Now look what he's done."

No one believed what he was saying for a second, least of all Faith. The only reason our heroes were taking their time moving was the redhead's hostage. Vert could not afford to move in with his sword for fear of hitting Spinner, and for the same reason Sheriff Johnson's shotgun was out of the question. But the gamer was planning his own move; as long as they kept his captor talking for the moment, he was nice and distracted. He just needed to slip his hand behind his back without Simon noticing, and… Spinner smirked.

"Well, you know Stanford," Spinner said with a theatrical roll of his eyes. "If everything's not absolutely just so, he goes straight to pieces."

"Oh, absolutely, old boy!" Simon said, relieved to think someone was on his side. "Why, when we were just little lads, I remember he would—AGH!"

The royal shoved Spinner away like he was on fire, hissing and backing towards the wall with his hands over his head. The gamer triumphantly raised the sharpened cross and warded him off, simultaneously moving back to his friends. Even as his brother, Sherman, lifted him off the ground in a grateful and frantic hug, Spinner never took his eyes off of the last vampire in Handler's Corners, letting his mocking grin burn him worse than any crucifix.

"The power of Christ compels you, BITCH."

Faith laughed as Simon scooted away from the Cortez brothers in fear. "Wow, Simon, you must be really deep into character if you get freaked out by religious artifacts," she said sarcastically. "Guess the runt's not so harmless after all."

"Oh, bloody hell," Simon desperately breathed. "I—I am telling you, this is all a terrible mistake!"

"Sheriff," she said, her eyes boring into the royal's. "If you'd be so kind?"

"Much obliged," Sheriff Johnson said, raising his shotgun to let the stock rest against his shoulder.

"Wait," a groggy voice demanded. Over on the counter, Stanford had been stirring a bit since his brother had first called him. Now the youngest member of the Rhodes clan shakily rose to his feet, groaning and rubbing his head. Gingerly, he trotted out in front of the sheriff and the slayer and held out his arms. "Wait. I can't let you do this. He's my brother."

Faith narrowed her eyes. "Stanford, when a human becomes a vampire, they die and a demon that thinks it's them holes up where their soul used to be. That's not your brother anymore. That's the thing that killed him."

"Way to go, Stanners!" Simon cheered. Maybe this idiot was good for something after all.

"I know," Stanford said, holding his head high. "But there's still the matter of succession."

Simon's face fell as he realized what was going on and he made a break for it, tossing chairs and AJ's unconscious form behind him to keep the slayer from catching him. In a truly inspired display of lightning reflexes he even managed to wrest the sheriff's shotgun from his hands, hurling it through the already broken window. But it only took a second for Faith to dodge around the thrown objects and furniture. Quicker than Simon could have dreamed, she had him pinned by the wrists up against the wall.

"You were saying, Stan?" she grumbled in annoyance, growling in the undead redhead's face.

"When Simon died I became the heir apparent to the house of Rhodes. I can't have him showing up to jeopardize my inheritance." Stanford paused, facing his brother. "Simon Ian Rhodes II, you have never been anything but trouble. You never appreciated the value of what you had been given, or the family that loved you. You disgraced our name with your drug-fueled misadventures and your double life as a porn star, to say nothing of the shameful way you treated Grace and probably many other girls. Now you are become Nosferatu, an aberration against God. As the future Lord Rhodes it is my birthright, and my duty, to end you. Vert, please hand me your sword."

Simon struggled against the strength of the slayer as she forced him down on his knees with his hands behind his back, helpless but to watch as his brother's blonde friend handed over what was to be the instrument of his death. "You filthy wretch! Your suffering will be legendary even in Hell!"

"Goodbye, Simon," he whispered, raising the sword above his head. The blade went snicker-snack, and with the usual flash and screaming there was nothing left but dust in the air and a few fragments of bone. Stanford let the sword clatter to the floor, emotionally exhausted. In one weekend he had lost his brother, found him again, and been forced to kill him with his own two hands. Stanford would bounce back, but before that he was going to need a lot of chocolate and dubstep to get rid of all of this tension.

"God dammit!" Faith exclaimed, sputtering and swiping at her blouse. "I got vampire ashes in my hair!"

"Sorry, Hope," Stanford said in a monotone.

Muttering a noncommittal "Whatever" at the sound of her alias, she stormed outside for a smoke.


	8. Winding Down

A/N: When we last left our heroes, Stanford had decapitated his brother Simon with Vert's sword. Let us join the Battle Force 5 now in the aftermath of the vampire attack. The Lord Rhodes is dead. Long live the Lord Rhodes.

* * *

><p>"AJ!" Tezz cried out, diving to his lover's side. He clutched the Canadian's hand in desperation and searched for a pulse. "Oh, AJ, please don't leave me! I need you!"<p>

The sheriff pulled out his radio. "Molly, send a bus over to Zeke's, and tell them to have a few pints of O Negative on hand. No need to send backup; suspects are in the wind."

The Russian was startled to be shoved aside, but he let Sheriff Johnson take control of the situation. Still, he never let go of AJ's hand. Even as the platinum blonde began to come around was Tezz silent, fearful he would burst into tears; he had come too close to losing his love, but they were not out of the woods yet.

"Tezz?" AJ weakly whispered, squeezing the Russian's hand. "What's going on?"

"Don't try to sit up," the sheriff admonished. "You've been attacked. You've lost some blood an' the last thing I need is you faintin' again like a dainty little lady."

AJ's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "That's right, there were those guys. And they… Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no!"

"AJ, remain calm," Tezz insisted, putting a hand on his chest to keep him from getting up. "You might hurt yourself."

"Tezz, you have to stake me!"

"What? AJ, I don't—"

"You have to stake me!" AJ repeated, grabbing him. "Tezz, I don't want to turn into one of those things. You have to stake my heart or-or let me see the sunrise. I don't—I don't want to be a vampire."

Sheriff Johnson calmly removed AJ's hand from Tezz's shirt collar, gently forcing him back to the floor. "The more you fuss the higher your blood pressure gets; the higher blood pressure you have the more blood you lose through that bite. Calm the fuck down, _now._ That's an order."

"I don't want to be a vampire," AJ whined.

"Did he make you drink his blood?"

"What?"

Sheriff Johnson repeated his words slowly as if he were speaking to a three year old. "Did he… make you… drink… his blood?"

AJ opened his mouth to answer, but the sheer absurdity of such a question stole his words away, and he shook his head slowly while keeping his disbelieving gaze on the lawman.

"Then you ain't gonna turn, boy. Now quit yer bellyachin' afore I decide it's easier to knock you out."

Vert allowed himself the luxury of feeling a sense of relief. If his best friend was coherent enough to realize how ridiculous their situation was, he was going to be just fine. Armed with this knowledge, the leader of the Battle Force 5 took stock of the rest of his teammates.

Spinner sat triumphantly atop his brother's shoulders, king of the mountain for his bravery. If it had been anyone else, Vert would have thought them retarded for attempting such a thing, but the gamer's knowledge of late night creature features had saved their collective ass. As his friends cheered him on, the nervously chuckling Spinner was asked what verse of the bible he had cited as he held the bloodsuckers at bay.

"What, that 'righteous anger' bullshit?" he said anxiously. "I was quoting Samuel L. Jackson's lines from _Pulp Fiction_."

Spinner soaked up the positive attention, and even Vert had to laugh.

Neither Agura nor Zoom had a scratch on them, thank goodness. And despite the younger but larger Cortez brother's earlier helplessness, he seemed to be unharmed. Tezz was panicked to see AJ so badly injured, but otherwise no worse for wear. Grace was still frightened and had a little bit of bruising on her neck, but as she clung to Zoom the waitress seemed to have a sort of giddiness about her; it was almost as if she was so glad to be alive that she needed to have hot sweaty sex in the immediate future just to prove she was okay. Zoom, for his part seemed to be picking up on this as she slowly separated him from the group and edged towards the broom closet. Vert and Agura shared a look as they watched the two go, but blushed and looked away from each other before either could do anything interesting.

Stanford, for his part, sat a bit back from his friends, rubbing his aching skull. He was glad the ordeal was over, and more than thrilled that after a little cleanup it would all be just a nightmare. But his actions, no matter how necessary, would likely haunt him for the rest of his days. The royal contemplated getting drunk enough to forget it ever happened, or even paying Sage's special memory chair a visit, but deep down he knew… He knew that Simon was a ponce and, this time, had gotten what he deserved. Stanford had done the right thing.

Watching his friend sit so wearily in the back booth, Vert knew this would make him stronger in the long run. The royal would just have to pull himself up by his bootstraps, dust himself off, and continue on as a proud warrior of the Battle Force 5. But also Vert understood that the healing would take some time.

The most important thing, in Vert's eyes, was that his friends were alive. They had made it by the skin of their teeth, but they had survived the night. The leader of the Battle Force 5 watched his friends huddle together in in solidarity, desperate to know they were each okay. He watched, but as rattled as he felt, he did not join them. There was still a lot he needed to think about, too many surprises to ponder the meaning of as they waited for the ambulance to finish loading AJ in the back. Tezz climbed in after him, intent on holding his hand all the way to Blessed Angels of Mercy Hospital.

"Suspect had some kind of weird fork thing," the sheriff lied as the EMTs questioned AJ's wound. "It was an interesting weapon, but it was more important to make sure the victim was okay than pursue the would-be robber."

The EMTs bought the explanation hook, line and sinker; no one would ever doubt the ever serious and law abiding Sheriff Johnson. Yet clearly, he had been lying for years. Sheriff Johnson seemed so well-practiced when it came to dealing with the undead, yet Vert had never once suspected anything unusual was occurring in Handler's Corners until meeting Sage. But the more Vert thought about it, who could blame the sheriff for keeping the vampire secret? If people believed him, either the vampires would be up in arms to keep things hush-hush or the people would panic. If no one believed him, he would end up like Zeke, the crazy old coot no one took seriously—or worse, in the nuthouse at Brush Hollow.

As an officer of the law, Sheriff Johnson may have had occasion to keep the peace with otherworldly folks that Vert did not desire to even imagine existed. The possibilities were endless and frightening.

And then of course, there was the woman he knew as Hope O'Shaughnessy. Grace's cousin was a variable Vert never would have counted on. He had seen some sick moves from Zoom, but even the scout would be hard-pressed to move as fast as her. Seeing her punch out idiot frat boys was one thing, but slaying vampires? Those men—those _things—_had easily been as strong as Krytus, and if Vert had beheaded one, the sheriff had taken out two, and Stanford had executed his brother, then that meant Hope had destroyed six of them practically by herself. The blonde hated to admit it, but he was impressed, even considering asking her to join the team. He still was unsure as to whether or not he could trust her, but there was no denying her abilities would be a great asset to the cause.

Pausing his thoughts to look around, Vert could not find Hope. Worried, he cautiously stepped outside to see if he could locate her.

* * *

><p><em>*click click click*<em>

Faith fumbled with her lighter, slowly growing more and more frustrated as she tried and failed to light her cigarette. _'Just what I needed,'_ she mused. _'To show a bunch o' vanilla mortals my slayer chops. Wicked A.'_

Normally, the rogue slayer would never bother to worry. There had been times, of course, where Faith would be forced to get her slay on when normal people were about. But in those cases, she would be drifting from town to town with no time to explain herself, no time for anyone to ask questions. Faith would be in the wind before the shock wore off, and by then all parties involved would most likely decide whatever happened was a bad dream. Because, let's face it, there's no such thing as monsters, right? There are no witches or ghouls lurking in the dark corners, ready to pounce on any careless victims who should happen by—and therefore, there cannot possibly be a girl whose job it is to destroy these creatures of the night. These normal people would normally be rescued and promptly forget the incident so they could move on with their normal lives. Faith remaining in town after the fact would just shatter their illusions.

_*click click*_

"God FUCKING _DAMN IT!" _she yelled, punching into the outer wall of Zeke's Diner; her fist sank two inches into the cracked stucco, debris and dust flying out of the hole. She had started fresh; a new town, a new name, and her last family member the only tie to her past. She was Hope, the waitress, not Faith the Vampire Slayer. Not anymore. "This isn't who I am! This isn't who I'm supposed to be! When am I allowed to have a quiet life and nice things and people who love me?! Buffy gets everything and I'm back to square fuckin' one! FUCK!"

The rogue slayer punched the wall again, and then once more, before leaning forward to let her head rest against the building. "I hate this. I hate vampires, I hate being responsible, I hate this so fuckin' much!"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

She groaned and punched the wall again, sending a chunk of it flying towards Vert's face. The blonde managed to duck on time.

"The fuck do you want?" she snarled.

"Just to thank you," Vert said. "For saving my friends. You… You were seriously badass."

Though she did not completely drop her guard, she grudgingly brought herself out of her fighting stance. "Hmph. Yeah, well, you're welcome."

"No, really," Vert insisted. "I've never seen anyone fight like that. I never thought vampires were real! This night has been amazing!"

The rogue slayer looked at him askance. "Never knew vampires were—? Didn't ya never see that stupid reality show? What was it called, 'Harmony Bites' or something?"

"Reality show?" Vert gasped. "I thought that was a mockumentary! I mean, come on, who would let a vapid bitch like that live? Unlive, whatever."

"She actually wasn't that great as a human either." She blew out a breath, running a hand through her hair. "Shit."

Vert furrowed his brow in concern. "What's wrong?"

"I have to leave town."

"What? Why?"

"Because everybody fucking saw me fighting vampires, dumbass!" She turned and began pacing back and forth, throwing up her hands and gesturing as she spoke. "I can't let that get out! It's a dead giveaway that something's weird! People will be after me and Gracie will be in danger. Damn it, I shouldn't never a' come here. Small town news travels fast and by morning everyone'll know what's what."

"Why would they find out?" Vert said incredulously. "The Sheriff's apparently been doing this awhile and no one else in town has ever mentioned vampires except to say how they felt about the Twilight Saga. I think you can count on him to keep this under wraps. And, uh, to tell you the truth, my friends and I have run across a few…unusual things the past two years or so. Not vampires, but…y'know, some other stuff, and we value discretion as much as you do."

The brunette raised an eyebrow and clenched her jaw, sizing Vert up. "So you won't say anything?"

"Not if you don't want us too," he promised. "Listen, Hope… I… Well, I know we had our differences over Simon's last visit, but after what you did tonight, we're even. You could've just left us here—"

"I could never do that to anyone."

"You could have, but you didn't. That shows character, bravery and honor. You fought hard, Hope." Vert smiled appreciatively. "Go home and get some sleep. But tomorrow, come down to the garage. I've got a job offer for you."


	9. Interview with the Crimson One

A/N: I think I might actually be finished with this one soon! But as sparingly as I post these chapters, the last one or two I have planned might take a couple months, especially seeing as how I'm kinda stuck with a lot of writing right now. My father's been on another drinking binge... Who am I kidding, that guy's life is just one long series of drinking binges. Urgh...

* * *

><p>As Vert had recommended, she took Grace home to the apartment they now shared. Both cousins slept until early the next afternoon, being given the day off by Zeke to recover from the 'terrible emotional trauma' of the night's events while the window and outer wall were fixed. Waking up around one, Faith watched a little TV before going out to see what the townspeople had heard and if anyone had heard about her act of derring-do. As luck would have, it, though, everyone was talking about a robbery attempt at Zeke's perpetrated by one man with an unusual weapon—not a gang of vicious bloodsuckers; just one guy. And upon running into Sheriff Johnson, she was told why: because he had lied to keep the town from panicking.<p>

The young woman who claimed her name was Hope O'Shaughnessy had been surprised when the sheriff had cornered her and asked to keep the previous night "Our little secret," but she had played right along. She had even winked at him and peppered her language with double entendre so the townsfolk in the street who were listening were scandalized. Now everyone thought she and Sheriff Johnson were having a torrid affair, but they were so busy gossiping that no one even mentioned the 'attempted robbery' at Zeke's Diner after that.

After teasing the sheriff, the rogue slayer had plenty of time to swing by Honeybee Sweets for a donut before she leisurely walked down Mechanic's Road to Spectra Motors.

Vert Wheeler had spoken of a job offer. Now, Faith was skeptical enough to not hold her breath about it, but money was tight; she and Grace were getting by, but she would have liked to do better than that. If the blonde had a need of her not inconsiderable talents, she was not averse to seeing what he had to offer. It was this, and **not** goodwill, that drew her to hear Vert out. But then, she had no idea what Vert's group was truly into. Ostensibly, he would want her as a test driver due to her high endurance, but really, for all she knew, he needed to hire a killer.

To tell the truth, this former Bostonian had been wary of the Spectra Motors crew since her arrival. Those ridiculous racing suits that matched their vehicles, the way they always disappeared whenever those strange lights in the desert that no one else ever seemed to notice happened, and now Vert's expert wielding of that rather uniquely shaped sword, all added up in her mind. What it added up to she was not yet sure, but she kept on her guard.

The garage looked empty as she approached, and she wondered if something had come up. But Vert came bounding out to meet her as she drew nearer and shook her hand. He was wearing that stupid racing suit again, the red one with the weird symbol on the shoulder, and she could tell he thought he looked quite dashing. _'Despite the fact that he looks like a kid in footie pajamas.'_

"I'd hoped it was you out here," he said breathlessly, a nervous smile gracing his lips and his eyes dancing with excitement. "I was starting to think you weren't gonna show."

'_Oh, jeez, is he flirting? He's flirting. Crap.'_ Had he seriously brought her out here just to hit on her? But she played along, mindful of the sheathed hunting knife attached to her belt and hidden beneath the hem of her jacket, the same jacket she had stolen from Simon when he was still alive. "Didn't have much else to do with the diner closed for repairs," she said. "I figured, whatever, I'll listen to what you've got to say. So, what's this about, exactly?"

"Why don't you follow me down to the lower levels where we can talk, and you can get an idea of what the rest of the team does?"

Lower levels? "I didn't know this place had any lower levels."

"Not many people do," he answered. When she had followed him to the back of the garage, he typed a numerical password into a hidden keypad, and a seam appeared in the wall. The double door opened, and the pair stepped into a concealed elevator.

By the time they reached the main floor of the secret underground base, Faith's mounting suspicions were coming to a head. Vert Wheeler's friends greeted them in their stupid pseudo-futuristic racing suits, each of them in their own colors and patterns and matching their vehicles. All of them, Vert included, looked smug and cocky as her eyes darted around the huge base, her hand reaching slowly behind her back.

"Weird uniforms? Check," she said dryly. "Charismatic leader with an unusual weapon? Check. Secret underground lair? C to the H-E-C-K. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you guys were a cult." She chuckled. "All you're missing is an otherworldly mentor."

"Actually, I am right over here," Sage intoned, floating serenely towards the new potential recruit. "I am called Sage; it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The brunette had already been on edge, and being snuck up on by a blue glowing creature of unknown origin did nothing to help her mood. As a slayer, she should have been able to sense her, regardless of the fact that her feet didn't touch the ground as she levitated towards the humans. Unnerved, the slayer jumped to the worst possible conclusion: her darkest suspicions had been right, and these idiots wanted her to drink the Kool-Aid.

"You really _are_ a cult! I fucking **knew it!" **'Hope' yelled, pulling the knife from behind her back. She growled, brandishing it as Vert and Sage backed off in surprise. "Well, bad news, buddy. You picked the wrong girl to recruit for your wannabe apocalypse club."

"Apocalypse?!" Vert asked incredulously, signaling his team to stand down. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"We mean you no harm," Sage told her, eyes glowing brightly. "But if you do not lower your weapon, I will be forced to take defensive action."

"Let's just calm down here and get some stuff sorted out real quick!" Vert insisted, getting between the two females. "Hope, we're not a cult! We're a team! We fight aliens! That's what I asked you here to talk about, so please, just put the knife down so I can explain!"

"Aliens," she said flatly, lowering the knife only slightly. "You fight aliens. As a team. You gotta be kiddin' me."

"You…fight vampires…. Are you kidding us…?" Vert asked in mock confusion.

She frowned for just a moment's pause. "Yeah, okay. I see your point." She sighed. "All right, so you fight aliens. What does that have to do with me? Go on, I'm listening."

"Hope," Vert said with a wide smile. "How would you like to help us save the world?"

She stared at him for a beat before dramatically rolling her eyes. "Oh, goddammit, not this shit again."

Vert blinked. "Uh, okay, not the answer I was expecting. What do you mean, 'again,' if you don't mind me asking?"

"None of your fucking business. I'm leaving now."

"Hope, if you would just listen—"

"No, _you_ listen!" she yelled, lifting him off the ground by the collar of his suit. "You have no idea the shit I've been through! I've seen _enough_ and I want a normal life. Why should I even care about saving the world anymore!? Half the humans on this planet are so busy killing each other because of the color of their skin or stupid fucking religious beliefs to even _notice_ an alien invasion, dammit! It doesn't matter how many demons you vanquish, or vampires you _slay, _or aliens you _kill._ Right afterward the government will just deny it ever happened and blame any destruction on a third world country that has something they **want.** It NEVER. FUCKING. _ENDS."_ She glared at him. "FUCK the world. It doesn't _deserve_ to be saved."

Vert looked down into her darkly burning eyes, his mind racing. Among his thoughts was the fact that normal humans, especially human females, were not supposed to be strong enough to lift and hold someone larger than themselves off of the ground for this long. More importantly, however, was the look of rage and pain she gave him and the knife in her hand. The woman with her hand at his throat was not in a rational state. Hope was hurt and angry, certainly. But, more than anything else, she just seemed tired.

From everything Hope was saying to him, she had been through all this before. What the Battle Force 5 saw as exciting and new was the same old song and dance for her. She was drained. She had nothing else to give. She was an exhausted veteran who didn't have it in her to care anymore.

'_Except, if that were true,'_ he thought, _'She wouldn't have helped last night.'_ There was some spark left in her, whether she believed it or not. Maybe if he could kindle that spark, he could get Hope on his side. She still cared about something.

Or rather, someone.

"What about Grace?" he asked. "What does she deserve?"

They locked eyes for a moment, chocolate meeting ocean, and she was the first to look away. Presently she realized she was still holding the blonde aloft with one hand and a knife with the other. Gently, she lowered him to his feet. She would not meet his eyes.

"Can I please have the knife, Hope?" Vert asked softly.

With a shake of her head she declined and replaced the weapon to its sheath.

"Okay. That's fine, too." Vert carefully stepped forward; maybe he could still get her to help them. "I never meant to upset you, Hope. When I saw you fight those things yesterday, I knew you were something special."

The rogue slayer scoffed and rolled her eyes again.

"Please, just hear us out." The blonde turned towards the glowing blue chick again. "Sage? Maybe you'd better explain it."

Sage eyed the brunette carefully, keeping what distance she could. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"Whenever a Sentient pair reproduces, they birth a set of twins: one Red, made of anti-matter, and one Blue, made of matter. As a result, our species was divided into twin races. We were at odds quite often, until finally a few billion years ago we came to a period of peace." She paused, and grimaced. "But one day, a group of Red rebels, led by my brother, Krytus, shattered that peace and decimated the Blues, leaving me no choice but to freeze the Reds in stasis for an indefinite amount of time until I could save my own civilization."

The slayer slowly raised her eyebrows as she listened. _'Okay, this ain't what I was expecting.'_

"Unfortunately there were certain factions that took advantage of the Sentients being out of the way," Sage continued. "The Sark, an army of robots led by Zemerik and his henchman, Zug, have systematically made their way across the multiverse in a bid for domination. Their rivals the Vandals, a collective of various beastly races, scavenged technology from the Blue Sentient homeworld and began their competition with the Sark for interdimensional conquest. Worse yet, the Red Sentients' five greatest warriors—my brother included—have broken free and are looking for me, putting Earth in terrible danger."

"I rescued Sage from the Vandals by chance," Vert said. "I saw a portal and just went for it, looking for fun, and there she was. Once I brought her safely to Earth, Sage called the others and formed the Battle Force 5 to protect Earth and the rest of the multiverse. We go through the portals into the battle zones to fight the Vandals and the Sark, and more recently the Red Sentients. The portals open—"

"On the salt flats," the slayer finished for him. "Yeah, I noticed those creepy lights. Kind of funny how no one else does, though; it's like the whole town is completely blind to any kind of weirdness."

Vert was quiet momentarily; the girl had a point. Presently he was reminded of one night when the Vandals arrived on Earth, and everyone had assumed they were making a monster movie. Sheriff Johnson had even claimed the 'costumes' were fake looking, but knowing now that the sheriff was clued in on the supernatural, perhaps he had tried to keep panic at a minimum by spreading the rumor? He pushed the thought away. There would be time to wonder about that later.

"To be honest, I was a little surprised when you said 'portals,' though. Those were supposed to be sealed once the Seed of Wonder was destroyed. There's not supposed to be any magic left on Earth."

Vert looked up in confusion at the unusual terms. "Seed of what now? And who said anything about magic? There's no such thing."

"Is so! And let's just say there was some weirdness in Europe a year or two back, and Simon was the first coherent new vampire I'd seen in a while." Hope sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I pulled a knife on you. You seem like an okay guy, actually, but that's the problem. If everything you've told me is true and you're really as nice as you act, then I'm not gonna be a good fit for the team."

"Hope, this war needs to end. We can use all the help we can get."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "You mentioned the main leaders are still around for the Vandals," she said. "Are they that good, that you haven't been able to kill them yet? And what about the Reds?"

"Sentients are energy beings, able to resurrect if a new body is made for them," Sage said. "We have been unable to locate their respawn chambers thus far. Likewise, if Zemerik or Zug are rendered inoperable, their memories can be uploaded into new units."

"You didn't answer me about the Vandals," Hope said, looking at Vert expectantly. When he broke their gaze, she had all the answer she needed. "They're animals, right? They bleed? They _can_ be killed, can't they?"

"Yeah, but—"

"But you don't have the stomach for it," she said matter-of-factly. "V, baby, if you can't get over that, then you don't **want** _my_ kind of help. If you wanna win this war, you're eventually gonna get blood on your hands."

"Not if I can help it!" he said hotly.

"Even worse, one day the enemy might be human," she persisted. "Or maybe one of your friends will be mortally wounded in in horrible pain, beggin' you to end it for 'em. There'll come a day when you don't have a choice, blondie. Could you do it? Could you kill a man with your bare hands?" She stared him down. "Vert Wheeler… Could you choke the life out of a human being and watch the light go out in their eyes for good?"

"Stop it!"

"Wars have casualties, Vert!" she exclaimed with a derisive snort. "You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs! Any cook'll tell ya that!"

"We'll make it work! We'll find a way!"

"I wish I was that naïve, V. But this is the real world. You gotta stop being such a child. Everything dies. People die. Monsters have to be slain. It's the way things are."

Vert gave her a withering look. "It doesn't always have to be that way," he said. "The Battle Force 5 fights to protect the multiverse from those who would conquer it, but if peaceful solutions are possible, then we will find them."

The brunette looked skeptical. "I could see if this was a gang fight or a family feud you could maybe try to settle peacefully, but you make these guys out to be stone cold killers. You've been lucky so far, but if they had the chance, they'd eat you alive!" She shook her head and sighed. "This ain't gonna work out, V. A no-kill policy just doesn't make any kind of sense for this shit. You got something you need to point a woman of mass destruction at, then call me, baby, 'cause I'm your go-to girl for dirty deeds done dirt cheap. But until then, I'm outta here."

Vert's shoulders sank. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Hope," he said. "I'm afraid we'll have to erase your memory of this meeting to protect our secret. I hope you understand."

The younger Cortez's grip was weak compared to what she'd been through over the years. Almost effortlessly she slipped free, wrenching his arm behind his back. Within a moment she had his Adams apple in the crook of her elbow, squeezing the breath out of him. The much larger boy thrashed in her grasp, and she was forced to lift him off his feet to keep him from escaping. As the rogue slayer held him aloft over her head, he stopped struggling, too shocked that someone so much smaller than himself was able to best him so spectacularly.

"Back off!" she said with a manic grin, threatening to toss him at his comrades. "I've got a Sherman and I'm not afraid to use it!"

Sherman blushed at his brother's peals of laughter. "Um, Hope? I would really appreciate it if you'd, you know… Put me down gently."

"Oh, yeah, be real careful with my baby brother," Spinner choked out between guffaws. "He's a delicate flower!"

"Shut up!" Sherman squealed indignantly.

Faith smirked, still holding the younger Cortez brother above her head as if he were as light as a feather. Even with Zoom's martial arts training, and the five of them still unharmed, the fight would never be fair—just not in the direction they thought. She could kill them all with hardly any effort; there had even been a time when that wouldn't have bothered her. They were stupid, innocent, humans who thought they were doing the right thing, but they were in her way, and she was a goddamned _slayer_. Of course she understood the need for secrecy, and she sympathized with them to some extent, but that did not mean she was about to let them mess with her memories.

Instead, she laughed in their faces and spoke thusly: "You sent one, count 'em, ONE plain. Vanilla. Mortal. Not even a werewolf or a knight of the cross, a mortal." She paused, dropping Sherman roughly on his bottom. "I'm actually kind of insulted you don't take me more seriously."

Sherman grumbled and got off the floor, rubbing the spot he had landed on. Vert stared at her, trying to gauge just where he had miscalculated and attempting to come up with a new plan.

"Hope, we can't let this out."

"I trusted you not to blab about the vamp attack last night, didn't I?" she retorted. "I'm leaving, jackass."

"You can't—"

"You gonna stop me, ya little chicken shit?" she demanded with an incredulous laugh. With a roll of her eyes the native Bostonian turned on her heel and hit the button for the elevator, leaning against the wall with her palm as she waited for it to arrive.

"Hope, wait!" he called after her. She made her way through the elevator door, but he hesitated to follow. He tried in vain to get Sherman to go after her, but the younger Cortez refused. Zoom had lost interest almost ten minutes before and gone to get a sandwich. Stanford and Vert were too cowardly after the slayer's show of prowess, and Spinner was too busy laughing. Tezz was out visiting AJ at the hospital. Finally, Vert asked Agura to go after her, but the huntress made some excuse about _'respecting Hope's decision.'_

In truth, Agura was glad to see her go. The girl she knew as Hope O'Shaughnessy was one of the boys, like her, but unlike the huntress, this slayer was sultry and provocative. Hope was unafraid of labels like _'slut'_ or _'home wrecker,'_ openly flirting with guys twice her age. When boys she didn't care for tried to win her, she would brush them off with an insult and a teasing grin, shaking her ass so they would know what they were missing, and they always came back for more. No, Agura was relieved to hear the girl decline; the less competition she had for Vert's affections, the better.

Vert sighed. "Well," he said. "That was an unmitigated disaster."

Sage frowned, floated up to him, and bopped him lightly on the nose. "I am very disappointed in your irresponsibility in this instance, Vert." The glowing blue mentor of the team glowered, scolding Vert as if he were a child. "Perhaps the next time you endeavor to recruit another human to the Battle Force 5, you should run a background check first."

Spinner chuckled at Vert's pouting, but Sage's words stuck in his mind. Perhaps a background check _was_ in order…


	10. THE END

'_THERE IS NO HOPE!'_ Spinner Cortez thought with panic.

The elder Cortez did not mean this in the usual sense of despair, though he was hopeless of finding his goal.

When Sage had reprimanded Vert for failing to thoroughly research a potential recruit, Spinner had done just what she had suggested and attempted a background check. The hacker had spent the hours after "Hope" left poring over thousands of records, trying to find a Hope O'Shaughnessy of South Boston, Massachusetts, but the search had been absolutely fruitless. There were no fewer than fourteen Hope O'Shaughnessys from that area that were the right age, and dozens more counting multiple variant spellings of O'Shaughnessy, but none of the records he had found were a match. Spinner had been able to cross several records off the list by virtue of included pictures of the subject. A few he had been able to ignore because O'Shaugnessy was their married name or the record had listed them as African American. The rest he knew could not possibly have been the Hope he knew, due to the fact that their paper trails were continuously added to in their home state. Spinner had even double checked Handler's Corners' records and discovered that Grace's rental agreement only included her and _not_ her cousin, and there were no nearby banks that had a Hope O'Shaughnessy on record as having an account. From all of this evidence, or rather lack thereof, Spinner could only conclude that there was **no** Hope; Hope O'Shaughnessy was not a real person.

This brought up a host of new problems. If "Hope" was living under an assumed name, what was she running from? She had said it herself that vampires were no big deal for her, so what could possibly make her run and hide? It simply did not add up.

Spinner paced back and forth as he pondered this for a moment before returning to the internet. After looking up a very specific procedure on Wikipedia, he retrieved some baking powder, an artist's paint brush, and a roll of packing tape. When he was sure the others had gone to sleep, he tiptoed towards the elevator and began dusting around the wall to the right of the keypad. After a few minutes, Spinner pumped his fist in the air at his success: there on the wall was a complete hand print, fingertips, palm and all. Carefully he smoothed a piece of packing tape over the tip of each finger, slowly and deliberately removing them and placing them against a piece of plastic.

If the others saw him sneaking around, Spinner knew they would think he was up to something. In truth, Spinner was unsure as to why he was even sneaking around in the first place. Really, any information he found was best shared with the team, as they all had something to lose if their secret got out and the government descended upon their base. But, still… There was just, well, _something_ about the way Hope acted so nonchalantly about keeping quiet that seemed off to him. The hacker wasn't really sure what he was looking for, and he supposed that was why he said nothing to his teammates. He didn't want to worry them unless he had proof, but he had this nagging hunch that there was more to the story.

Spinner had to know the truth or he would explode from sheer curiosity. This was the thin justification he gave himself for scanning "Hope's" fingerprints and hacking into a federal database in an attempt to learn her true identity.

Within a few minutes of typing, Spinner was inside the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System, the system used by US police departments and various federal agencies to catalog criminal records. It was a longshot, he knew, that he had taken the fingerprints correctly, or even that "Hope" would be in the system; she seemed like a trustworthy girl, or at least one smart enough not to get caught if she did anything illegal.

'_Beating up Simon notwithstanding, of course,'_ he thought to himself. Simon had been a prick in death, but he had been almost as bad in life. Anyone would have done the same thing in her place. He doubted she would have any record attached to her prints.

The computer screen started blinking furiously with flashing alerts and warnings. Spinner's jaw nearly hit the floor.

* * *

><p>"Okay, so vampires are real," Grace said frantically. "I totally get that. There's no way around that, I know what I saw. But you have to cut me some slack, here, Faith—I mean, Hope, Hope; your name is Hope now. I'm sorry, this is all a bit much for me and I think I'm having a meltdown." She looked at the afternoon sky through the newly repaired window and groaned. "And I <em>really<em> don't want to be here right now."

Faith smirked. "Relax, Gracie. They only come out after dark."

"But what about things that don't have to wait for the sun to go down?" she demanded. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"It's not exactly new to me," she said. The diner was empty; they were alone. Zeke was god only knew where, maybe hunting for alien artifacts, or perhaps doing some maintenance on the old warehouse where he locked himself up to wolf out. Lunch was long over, but not so long that they were expecting the dinner rush to start in less than a few hours. They had the place to themselves, and if Grace hadn't made her promise to try and quit, the rogue slayer might have dared to light a cigarette—gasp!—_inside_ the restaurant. As it was, she decided to take an even bigger risk.

"So there's this prophecy right?" She stretched and leaned back in the booth, cracking her knuckles above her head. "'Into every generation she is born, one girl to stand alone against the darkness.' Now, this girl, she's called the slayer, and she's super badass and tough, and even though there were a lot of girls born with the potential to become a slayer, only one would be called at a time. That one chick would fight monsters until she died, and then the power would pass on to the next girl. You with me so far, Gracie?"

Grace furrowed her brow. "Slayers?" she asked meekly. "Like that terrorist group the government was warning people about…?"

"They're not terrorists, or radical militant feminists, or anything like that," Faith said wearily. "That was just propaganda spread by a doomsday cult that infiltrated the US military."

"Wait, WHAT?"

"Anyway, slayers are basically magic chicks who kick serious ass. But a few years back, the magic changed because of something that the slayer before me did. After that, every girl who could be a slayer became a slayer, and there were, like, two thousand the last time we counted, and fifteen hundred or so working together in small groups across the globe." She stopped and sipped her soda. "I've seen all kinds of things, Grace. Witches and warlocks, demons, vampires, ancient caveman vampire demon things; I'm even pretty sure there's at least one werewolf living here in town. And from the way Sheriff Johnson was handling things the other night I'd say he's known what's what for a long time."

Grace was frozen in her seat. "This," she gulped, "Is a lot to take in."

Her cousin laughed and headed for the register. Under the counter, right next the shotgun, was what Zeke liked to call the _emergency bourbon._ Of course the old man expected them to be sober at work, but he also understood that sometimes, when shit hits the fan, you just need a goddamn _drink._ The rogue slayer grabbed the bottle and the two tumblers, bringing them over to the booth and pouring each of them a little something to take the edge off. Grace downed hers too quickly, nearly choking, but was calm enough to sip the second. Once the tension had eased, Faith started chatting to get her cousin back out of the dumps, and Grace was soon flooding her with questions. When did Faith kill her first vampire, how old was she when she became a slayer, what was the scariest thing she had ever faced? Faith did her best to answer everything Grace threw at her, but it got to the point where she was rolling her eyes and explaining things slowly when her younger cousin mentioned a few choice pop culture references. Some of the things Grace began asking about, she had only seen in episodes of _Charmed_.

Thankfully, mercifully, _finally,_ they had a customer, and Faith put the emergency bourbon back next to the shotgun while Grace went to splash some water on her face.

"Welcome to Zeke's Diner, I'm Hope, and I'll be serving you this evening," she said on autopilot before recognizing the young man standing before her. The rogue slayer watched him with a steely gaze, her voice cold. "Hey, kiddo. Where're your friends?"

"Just me today," Spinner said. "Hope, you and I need to talk."

She narrowed her eyes, untrusting of the so-called 'Battle Force 5.' This little guy, she had him pegged from day one as a weasel. He was scrawny and twitchy, and his hair was ridiculous. Still, this unimpressive fellow had fended off a number of dangerous vampires, saving the lives of his friends. She wanted more than anything to toss him out on his ass, but despite Spinner Cortez being too pathetic to hit, she had to respect his willingness to fight above his weight class. She settled for utilizing snark. "Look, if this is about the job offer, you can tell your boss to go stick it. I'm not that desperate."

Spinner gulped at the scowl he received. "They don't know I'm here," he said. "I-I-I just thought that if—"

"Well, ya thought wrong, half-pint," she said. "Listen, I don't got all day here. Are you going to order or what?"

The gamer looked around quickly and, seeing no witnesses, swiftly shoved a manila envelope into her hands. The waitress took it in confusion.

"What's all this?" she asked, opening the seal and taking out a sheet of paper with her picture, what looked like the record for some minor shoplifting charge…

And the name Hope O'Shaughnessy.

"It's everything you need to start again," he said in a hushed tone. "Birth certificate, driver's license, the whole shebang. As far as anyone's concerned, you've only ever been Hope… And Faith never existed."

She took a step back, staring down at him as if he were crazy. "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, though she knew full well. "Who's Faith? I don't know what you've been smoking, but where can I get some?"

The hacker grinned. "Plausible deniability, gotcha. Good strategy!" He cleared his throat. "Seriously, though, I cut your rap sheet in half, then I realized you still looked pretty bad, so I got rid of some more. I left in the shoplifting stuff from early high school, the runaway status, got rid of the time in the pen for murder—"

She lifted him off the ground. "Listen, you little pipsqueak," she hissed quietly. "You've got the wrong girl. I always _have _been Hope O'Shaughnessy. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then I guess," Spinner said softly, "That I forged all those IDs and deleted all the information connecting Faith Lehane to Grace McCallister for no reason."

Faith nearly staggered as she dropped him on his feet. She'd been made; her cover was blown. This inconsequential little nothing had figured out her real name, and there was nothing she could do about it. Here in the envelope was her apparent salvation, and she could never dare touch it. In a case such as this, how could she keep from looking a gift horse in the mouth?

This was some kind of setup. It had to be. Nothing ever came without a price.

"It's been three days since the interview," she said. "Why now, and with no backup? What do you want, Spinner?"

Spinner brushed himself off. "I did a background check on 'Hope O'Shaughnessy', and nothing came up for you. There's no such thing as a person without computerized records attached to their name in this day and age. You were a ghost. It was a mystery, so I ran your prints, which you were kind enough to leave by the elevator."

'_Fuck.'_ She winced. Yes, Faith had casually leaned against the wall as she waited for the elevator, her palm pressed flat on the cold steel.

"I learned all about you, and that lead to the slayers. And then it all made sense." Spinner threw his arms up in exasperation. "Nobody believed me when I said Simon was going to rise as a vampire. They thought I was telling a sick joke to hurt Stanford's feelings, but c'mon, I do have _some_ taste. And you knew all about the vampires, and how to kill them, and you were so strong, and you kicked our asses. So—"

There was the distinctive sound of a woman painfully wretching coming from the lady's room. Spinner only ceased to panic after Faith assured him that her cousin, Grace, was the culprit, though he raised his eyebrow and refused to continue after the rogue slayer insisted Grace was not pregnant.

"I get that you would want a quiet life after all that hell," Spinner said, pushing the envelope back into her hands. "But you still did something great for us, saving my friends' lives. And I just thought, maybe if I showed you some appreciation…"

Faith faltered as she looked over the forged documents. They were _excellent._ She had no idea what the hell kind of printer he had used, but she supposed it must have been a good one to get something of such high quality. The kid had clearly gone to a lot of trouble for her. "You made all these yourself?"

Spin shrugged. "Pfft, please! Once I'd hacked into the right databases, all I had to do was create the files from the inside. After that, it was just a matter of getting the records departments to send copies."

And he was a hacker, too! Maybe he meant what he said about Faith's records being deleted. "And you're sure everything else is gone?"

"Completely gone," he said with a manic grin. "Gotta love super-cool alien tech. The pentagon never knew what hit them!"

The temptation grew greater every minute. She could disappear, go somewhere new, and live her life without looking over her shoulder. She could finally be free, if only she took the chance. But she had the nagging feeling that something was wrong, because really, she believed deep down that she was a bad person and did not deserve to be happy. She had done and seen horrible things. Her records were gone, but there were still the people who knew her for who she really was. She would never be left alone. And as she knew only too well, nothing was ever free.

"What's the catch?" she demanded, her voice dripping with an icy venom.

Spinner put up his hands defensively. "Once in a while, we might run into something we can't handle," he said. "Something supernatural or whatever. Just, like, y'know, if we need help, could we count on you? And if you see anything with aliens or something, give us a call, and we'll take care of it."

She glared. "That's all? No favors? No blackmail?"

"Isn't having a slayer on call cool enough on its own?" he said. "I know, you said you didn't want to save the world, but I cleaned that mess so good you could go into _law enforcement_ if you wanted."

She laughed. "Damn it, there you go with the jokes again! Are you sure the guys didn't put you up to this?"

"I swear the others don't even know I'm here," he insisted, putting his hand over his heart. "Please, _Hope,_ just give us a chance. This is a token of _faith_ on my part—"

"Ugh, bad pun."

"—and all I ask is that we can call you for help if we run into something spooky."

Hope looked at the kid skeptically—and yes, she did know that from that day forward her name would always be Hope—as she considered the situation. Clearly, she was getting the better end of the deal. What did this kid want from her? What was his angle? But as she looked the hacker up and down, looked into his little golden eyes, she recognized not the look of naïveté, but of calculation. Spinner was planning something—something big. Maybe he was going rogue himself, and wanted her as an ally. Maybe he was looking to extort sexual favors from her. She knew that if the spike-haired brat had given her this gift, he could just as easily hand her over to any number of authorities who were after her. There was really no way to know if the hacker was on the level.

She sighed. In the end, this was just too good to pass up. "I swear to god, you better not try to play me."

"Of course not," Spinner said indignantly.

"Because I will fucking **kill** you." She glared down. "I'm serious, little man. Better men than you have tried to screw me over and every single one of them got what they deserved."

"Double-crossers usually do," he chuckled. Spinner offered his hand. "So…?"

The rogue slayer snickered, grabbing hold for a firm handshake. "Alright, kiddo" she said with a grin. "You got yourself a deal."

Hope. The name on her new birth certificate was Hope Marie O'Shaughnessy. She watched Spinner leave the diner and smiled.

She had more than hope that things were going to be all right, she had _faith_. Today was the first day of the rest of her life.

_**THE END**_

* * *

><p>AN: It was a wild ride, but that's all folks! And now that the last chapter is completed, the rogue slayer shall forever be included in my canon as Hope O'Shaughnessy. She'll always be referred to as such, and I'm pretty sure no one but Spinner will ever know. YAYZ! And I finally officially got his black ops squad started! Oh, hey, oops, did I say that out loud? Yeah, that's right, Spinner's starting a black ops squad behind Vert's back because he doesn't think Vert can make the decision to calculate a sacrifice of innocents to save more people and this way he'll have some awesome sauce people to run assassinations for him or whatever. WOOT!


End file.
